


Highway to Hel

by theicesculpture



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: ...ish, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Camping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Huddling For Warmth, Humor, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mentions of Grieving, Novelette, Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Prayer, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, but with a few wobbles (especially towards the start), or appearances of him anyway, speedrun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicesculpture/pseuds/theicesculpture
Summary: Helvegr: the road to the underworld.While in his cell, Loki hears Tony’s prayers – or, more accurately, his curses. Tony has questions, Loki has answers he doesn’t want to give freely, and they both have people they would in the most literal sense go to Hel for.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 75
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hosio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosio/gifts).



> The plot could also be described as the road to the road to Hel, but that's nowhere near as catchy.
> 
> Anyway, this is for the wonderful wonderfully Hosio Hosio. Merry not-birth.
> 
> I, um, wasn't kidding when I told you the length of this got out of hand. I was aiming for a oneshot somewhere around 4000 words and got taken by the idea of Loki hearing Tony ~~praying~~ cursing him and then the idea of what could happen if some of the events of The Dark World still transpire hit and then there was unexpected accidental plot, the potential for stupid jokes, and the two of them wandering around Jotunheim. So all that stuff _will_ happen, but for now we have the part one of around four parts. I have pre-written almost all of the rest of this fic, it just needs editing and extra scenes adding.
> 
> Readers should probably be aware that there has been some fudging of the canon timeline in that Age of Ultron happens before Thor: The Dark World in this fic. Some of the tropes, tone (since this fic doesn't really try to make itself plausibly canon and takes itself way less seriously than my usual), and speed at which things happen aren't what I'd typically go for but I thought I'd give it a go and had a ton of fun trying to write what is essentially enemies to friends to lovers on speed (well, not quite lovers since this rated a T, but you get the idea).
> 
> Thank you [SuccubusKayko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko) for beta reading this!

_Loki, you absolute son of a bitch_.

The thought is startlingly vivid, so much so that it makes Loki sit up straight in his cell. 

A prayer. It’s a prayer. It’s been such a long time since he’s received one that he can hear so clearly, though this one seems to be more of a curse than a prayer. 

_Loki goddamn God of Mischief. Earned your title, didn’t you? Even when you’ve been gone for years you still can’t stop causing trouble._

The voice is familiar. Not Asgardian, that’s for a certain. Midgardian. It has to be; no other species has the ability to pray, to direct thoughts at gods and have them heard.

_Like you trying to screw with my tower wasn’t bad enough, now your Glowstick of Destiny just has to mess up my whole day. Week. Make that my entire month. Thanks for that. Really._

Glowstick of Destiny indeed. Loki doesn’t have to hazard much of a guess as to who the voice belongs to.

* * *

There was a time in which the prayers would come with a certain degree of regularity. Loki never has been the recipient of most of them – Odin and Frigga would receive the brunt; Odin for knowledge and victory, Frigga for foresight and wisdom, and it wasn’t uncommon for Thor to be called to for strength.

The prayers sent in Loki’s direction have become far quieter over the last number of centuries as well as more sparse, though they’ve yet to have been rendered completely silent. Loki prefers them quiet. They used to be a distraction; the voices would come unbidden at any time of the day or night, pleading for his help or scorning his name for one misfortune or another regardless of whether or not he’d had a hand in it. Some would ask for the power to slip from the trappings of their lives, for his blessing in a scheme, for unconventional solutions to complex problems. They’d want cunning, the ability to charm, the freedom to gamble their futures on the toss of a coin and reap the rewards. Some would even try to appease and soothe him in fruitless attempts to stop the quakes that shake the earth – they’d be burning incense, leaving offerings of meat and mead, and calving runes all in his name.

With years of practice came the ability to render the thoughts that weren’t his to nothing but distant murmurs, so quiet they’d be barely audible.

Not now though. 

Stark’s voice had been so startlingly clear, as if he’d been talking directly into Loki’s ear, as if he’d been standing right in front of him. Loki doubts that Stark is aware that he can hear him; any thought directed towards him by a Midgardian has the potential to reach him, but whether it will be heard is another matter.

There must have been countless thoughts directed towards him during his attack on Midgard, and so long as they were directed towards him rather than merely _about_ him then that would be enough to constitute a prayer – or rather, as the case may be, a curse. 

But Stark can’t be the only Midgardian cursing him, not after everything Loki did. So why is it that _Stark’s_ voice is the loudest, the only one that is reaching him?

* * *

More prayers come in the following days, but there’s little that Loki can do from his cell but listen:

_Loki, I swear I’m gonna have to kill you myself._

_Loki, was this your plan all along?_

_Loki, this would be so much easier if you picked literally any other planet for your whole King of the Planet spiel._

And then Loki’s personal favourite: _Hmm, I’ll give you this one: sometimes I get why having Thor as your brother would make you wanna go over to the dark side_. _And not just because they have cookies_.

Not that Loki requires Stark’s approval. Not at all. This is entertainment and entertainment is something he has been sorely lacking as of late.

* * *

The prayers come unbidden and unpredictably at any time of the day or night, enough of them that Loki is able to piece together some kind of cohesive narrative: Stark meddled with the Sceptre and this resulted in him creating some kind of artificial lifeform intent on destroying humanity. For this, naturally, he blames Loki. Sometimes himself too, but he definitely has a preference for shifting the blame on to Loki.  
It is enough of a well-needed distraction that Loki doesn’t mind.

* * *

Stark’s prayers aren’t stopping.

Loki thought they would settle after the incident with the monster Stark created was resolved, only they don’t. 

_Alright you bastard, where the hell did you get the Sceptre from? It can’t have just come from nowhere._

_Wonder how pissed you’d be if you found out your glow stick and my A.I. had a baby. Should we start thinking of baby names?_

_Do you know more about Infinity Stones than Thor does? Because you had the Tesseract as well and that has to be another one of the stones, right?_

_Why the hell does everything have to come back to you? How did you even get your hands on two Infinity Stones in the first place, that has to be a big deal, doesn’t it? Why is no one else asking these questions?_

And then: _Wait – did you find the stones or did someone give you them? You could be the key in all this and you probably know it, you asshole._

All of a sudden Loki is no longer certain that Stark’s prayers are welcome.

* * *

Stark’s voice makes itself known once again: _Let’s see what you’ve got_.

Loki wakes up with a start.

* * *

Stark is there, standing right outside of his cell. How did he even get here – was it Thor? Thor must have had something to do with it, must have managed to pull some leverage over Odin to allow it to happen, though no doubt Odin would not have been pleased.

_Nice to see you’ve moved on from the Christmas tree hair_.

There’s something very odd about this, about hearing Stark’s prayer while he’s in visible sight, but it’s best not to let him know he can hear, best to keep what information he can learn and use it to his advantage.

Loki eyes Stark. “I see that in place of Thor deigning to bother visiting, he has sent you in his stead. Tell me: which of us should be more insulted?”

“Actually, I sent myself.”

“Forgive me if I have doubts. In order to pass through the Bifrost alone, you would have had to–”

“This was all my idea, no one else’s. Thor tried to talk me out of it. And yeah, your bro made it happen but that doesn’t change that it was all–”

“Your idea?” Loki finishes.

Stark shrugs. “Thought we had something special. You know, I’d hate to leave things as we ended them, what with you being sent back here in chains and all.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” Stark moves closer to the glass of Loki’s cell, examining the glow of the ward for the briefest of seconds. “So here’s the thing: I’ve got loose ends I wanna tie-up and a catchup with you is the fastest way of doing it. Also it’s one hell of a bonus that I get to go world-hopping – so what do you say?”

“And my motive for cooperating with you to allow you to, ah, resolve your loose ends would be…?”

“The pleasure of my company. Obviously.”

Loki reaches for one of the books by his bed and opens it so that it lies flat on his lap.

“Okay, fine,” Stark amends. “I’ll think of something to get you talking. But I’ll tell you one thing – I’m not gonna bust you out of here. Not a chance in hell.”

Loki doesn’t bother looking up, he just turns a page. “Then I am not interested in assisting you.”

“You’re forgetting something important.”

Loki lets out a sigh. “And what might that be?”

“I’m persistent. I’ve been reliably informed it comes with the whole being an asshole package.” There’s a small pause. “So you and me, we’re in this for the long haul, whether you like it or not.”

* * *

Stark returns the next day. And the day after that. It’ll only be a matter of time before Odin decides that he can no longer tolerate a Midgardian walking Asgard’s halls – even if he is a companion of Thor’s – and for that Loki is grateful.

For now though, he is bombarded with Stark’s questions. Loki does not answer any of them, only asks his own in return.

“How much of SHIELD has collapsed?” Loki asks when Stark asks about who he was serving. “How many rifts have grown between you and the rest of your band of Avengers in my absence?”

Stark voices another question, one about the Mind Stone and what abilities it has. Loki’s only response is to ask Stark how he’d resisted the Sceptre, to imply it was a pity he hadn’t fallen under its spell. 

And when Stark brings up the topic of the Tesseract, Loki asks what Stark did to the Chitauri, how he’d managed to somehow prevent the rest of them from coming through the portal. Stark doesn’t like that. His entire posture stiffens and yet his face remains void of emotion – he’s trying to keep something hidden, though Loki cannot deduce the specifics, only that it bothers him immensely.

* * *

Stark proposes a trade of knowledge. One answer in exchange for another. Loki doesn’t like it; he’d be giving more information about himself in exchange for impersonal information that he won’t even be able to use from within the walls of his prison.

The visits are beginning to leave a certain bitter taste in his mouth. How is it that Stark is visiting him more than his own family is? How is it that Stark is asking more questions than anyone else? How is it that Stark wants to know about after Loki’s fall when he doesn’t even know that Loki fell to begin with? How is it that Stark is more concerned about Thanos than Thor is?

Loki won’t do it. He won’t talk about Thanos, not here, not with Stark or Thor or anyone else. And especially not with Frigga, though the reasoning is different: he isn’t sure he could stand seeing the look on her face if she was to discover the truth.

But just because Loki won’t be a part of Stark’s game doesn’t mean that he can’t play his own in return. Stark’s stay here is a finite thing; the more of his time Loki wastes then the quicker Odin will lose all patience for him. 

Stark’s visits last hours. Loki steers the conversation in roundabout circles, asks even more questions than Stark does, and then, just when he thinks Stark must be getting towards the end of his tether, he hears it: 

_Oh._ Stark’s prayer is a startling contrast to the previous ones Loki has heard. An epiphany. One it sounds like he regrets having. _You’re lonely_. The words are almost pitying, so much so that it makes Loki recoil. _Might feel bad for you if you hadn’t brought this on yourself._

* * *

Stark’s questions begin to change over time: _What was your plan if you won back on Earth? Did you even have one?_

_Infinity Stones. There’s supposed to be six of them, right?_

_Do superiority complexes run in your family or something? I’m pretty sure your dad hates me even more than mine did. And he can’t stand Jane either – how can he not like Jane? Jane would love to lay into you about what you did to New York and I’d pay to be there on the day she does._

* * *

On this visit, Loki asks the first question: “How far can you see into space?”

“What – me personally or humans in general?”

“Either. Whichever can see the furthest.”

“Well, first off Stark Industries doesn’t do that much in space tech. Not yet, anyway. But I’m flattered you think if I was in space tech we’d beat any giants in the field because you can bet your tight leather pants we would.” Stark pauses and squints at him. “Wait. You haven’t asked anything like that before. What’s it to you how far we can see? Why would you even want to know?”

“Heimdall can see everything within the Nine Realms and if you delude yourself into believing you can compete using your–”

“No,” Stark interrupts. “That’s not it at all and you know it. You want to know how far we can see, which means there has to be something out there to see if you look far enough.” Loki freezes but Stark doesn’t stop. “What is it? More Chitarui? Are they mad because you made them lose the battle?” He tilts his head to one side, eyes not leaving his. “Or was it more than that? Did you manage to lose them an entire war?” He barks out a laugh. “Where did you even find those guys, anyway? What were you doing, only taking in the ones with the most metal resumes?”

But Loki has already said too much so he stops talking at all.

* * *

“Look,” Stark says. “You know something. I know you do. You know I know you do. So let’s cut to the chase. If there is something out there then whatever it is isn’t gonna be happy with you. Imagine your performance review for that week.” He pretends to shudder. “Even if I wanted to – which I definitely don’t, by the way – I can’t give you freedom. You know that. But there are other things I can get you.” His eyes sweep Loki’s cell. “Something more interesting than books, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I can give you toys. Not _those_ kinds of toys – just stuff to keep your mind occupied. A tablet. A cell – other than the kind of cell you’re in, that is. It’s not like you get wi-fi or reception here. I could even put on a bunch of movies for you. Bet you’d like that. Megamind. V For Vendetta. You name it.”

Loki almost laughs. “You think I would hand over every last thing you want to know in exchange for _trinkets?”_

Stark shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

* * *

Frigga is gone. 

Gone because Loki told the Kurse to take the stairs to the left. Gone right after she asked the question _then am I not your mother?_ Gone right after Loki told her she wasn’t. 

There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat from somewhere behind him. Loki doesn’t turn around; he’s leaning back against the front wall of his cell and has no desire to engage with another person, to have to look another person directly in the eye.

“Shit,” the voice says. “Your cell is a _mess_.”

* * *

“Stark,” Loki manages to get out upon Stark’s next visit from his position on the floor. His throat is still raw and his voice comes out as a rasp. “I’ll make a bargain with you.”

Stark stills. “You’ll what?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. What are your terms?”

“Not freedom.” Loki stands up, moving to the front of his cell so he’s directly opposite Stark, able to see his precise reaction. “Not mine, anyway.” He pauses. “Hers.”

“Whose?”

“My mother’s,” Loki gets out. “I want to bring my mother back.”

Stark just swallows and _stares_ and for the longest moment Loki thinks he’ll refuse him, that he won’t allow it because the risk of Loki escaping is too high, but then Stark says, “Wait. You can do that? You can bring people back from the dead? How do you even–”

“You start,” Loki says, “by finding the road to the underworld.”

* * *

Stark agrees, but he has conditions:

  1. Loki has to wear the wrist cuffs Stark somehow knows are in Asgard’s vaults, ones that can’t be removed using any method other than the key
  2. If Loki so much as attempts an escape or an attack on Stark’s person then Stark will not hold back in retaliation – he assures him that the upgrades made to his armour are capable of lethal force against Asgardians (Loki finds it interesting that no other race is mentioned)
  3. Loki answers Stark’s questions, of which there are no more than five, one along each step of their journey, otherwise Stark will return Loki back to his prison without Frigga
  4. Loki has to provide a list of things they will need for their journey so Stark can pack appropriately 
  5. Loki will assist Stark on one final matter during their journey. Frustratingly, Stark refuses to elaborate on what this matter is, only insists that it won’t be detrimental to Loki’s person or anyone else’s.



Loki agrees. He has to if he wants Frigga back and Stark has seen how desperate it has made him, has seen how he’d ruined his cell and had found him slumped on the floor afterwards.

* * *

It takes days of Stark returning, each time with a different piece of equipment. Nothing so much as touches the walls of Loki’s cell, not initially anyway. But Stark perseveres, bringing different alterations of hand-sized inventions he’s able to keep inside of his armour without them gaining unwanted attention. 

The day comes when one of Stark’s devices is able to begin to pierce the ward, and within a matter of hours Stark comes back with an adapted version of the same device to be able to break all the way through.

“Might as well start with question one,” Stark says before he begins work.

Loki unclenches his hands and nods. He won’t answer for himself but he will go through with this because this is for _Mother_ , this is all for her, and she deserves to be alive regardless of his reluctance to speak on the topics Stark interrogates him on. “Go on.”

“I want the name,” Stark says and Loki swallows. “Who was it you were or still are working for?”

It takes conscious effort to force his mouth to cooperate.

“Thanos,” Loki says.

Stark’s invention works – the whole front of Loki’s cell shatters.

* * *

_Because you’re a tricksy asshole, that’s why_ , Stark tells him in his thoughts as he flies them to the Bifrost. The end of the chain from Loki’s cuffs is secured around the chestpiece of Stark’s armour, a fixture that appears to have been added entirely for this purpose, and Loki supposes that must be why Stark is making no effort not to drop him. For dangling him over the void like that, Loki could kill him, could tear the flesh out of his throat, only he needs Stark to ask Heimdall to activate the Bifrost and he needs Stark to unlock the chains around his wrists. 

This whole escape is horribly humiliating, having to cling on to a Midgardian like this, but it’s better than being imprisoned and it’s a good thing Loki’s spell of camouflage, one that blends him in with the view of space from the observatory, means that there are no witnesses.

* * *

“So,” Stark says once they arrive at his tower, “you think we got away with it?”

“It would be difficult for anyone to have missed a display of obnoxiousness that obtuse. I doubt that even Heimdall, who has the entirety of the Nine Realms in his field of vision to be distracted by, could have missed you.”

“Hey. I needed to be seen coming back alone otherwise whenever they find out the version of you in your cell is just an illusion they’d link seeing me with you escaping.”

“I meant that you played your role sufficiently, Stark.”

“Oh. Well in that case, uh, thanks? Anyway – main question is… What happens now?”

“You have the items I told you to pack?”

“Yup.”

“Then we should be on our way.”

Stark nods, then appears to change his mind, shaking his head. “Uh – where exactly? It’s not like Valhalla’s got road signs. Well, apart from the New York and the Florida one. Valhallas are everywhere – they spawn like mushrooms.”

“There are walkways between each of the realms where the branches that hold them together are accessible by anyone who knows where to find them.”

“And you know where to find the walkway to get to dead people, right?”

Loki presses his lips together. “Not exactly.”

“Guess there’s a reason why you didn’t mention that until I busted you out. Smart. I should’ve known better.”

“In my defence, you never did ask.”

“Yep, wasn’t good thinking on my part.”

“Practically _sloppy_.”

“Yeah well, sloppiness aside – if you don’t know where the dead-people walkway is, do you at least know how to get there?”

“My seiðr enables me to be sensitive to detecting walkways. I’ve discovered many between each of the realms that I have explored. The walkways have a tendency to link from one similar environment to another. For example, there is a walkway between the farmland of Asgard and a field in Pembrokeshire, another between Mount St. Helens and the centre of Muspelheim.”

“So we need to find somewhere with a similar environment to where the dead are.”

“Precisely,” Loki confirms. “There is no realm I have searched that contains halls that could lead to Valhalla or the underwater halls of Ægir and Rán, and there is no realm with fields that could lead to Folkvang. The only remaining option leaves Hel.”

“Hel. Sure. Sounds like a great place to vacation. You wanna pick up some corny postcards while we’re there? Maybe stick our heads in one of those photo cutout board things, you know the kind, one with a background of flames and the two of us being tortured by a guy in red with a big pointy stick.”

Loki ignores that. “Hel is said to be cold. Dark. Generally lifeless.”

“Maybe it’ll turn out the walkway you were searching for was always with you – it was in your heart all along.”

“Are you even _trying_ to focus?”

“Hey. I’m all ears. You want somewhere cold, dark, virtually lifeless. I’m guessing you want a ride to Antarctica.”

“That isn’t the full scope of it,” Loki replies. Stark’s guess is remarkably close though – there’s a walkway they’ll be needing to use in a cave situated in Antarctica to travel elsewhere, though it won't lead directly to any world of the dead. “There is an entire realm that fits the relevant criteria. A realm I have not yet searched for any walkways.”

“And which one is that?”

Loki’s mouth is dry. “Jotunheim.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sky is a rich blue, so dark it’s almost black, and the landscape consists of the rise and fall of Jotunheim’s mountains, one of which they stand at the base of.

The air is cold enough that Loki regrets arriving in the same attire he wore in his cell; when the winds pick up it hits against his skin, leaving him with few choices but to bring out warmer clothing from his pocket dimension.

Stark is an incessant talker. He rambles about everything and nothing as if silence is detestable. 

“How long we gonna be hiking for?” is the latest of his questions.

Loki neglects to answer. If he expands his senses, the walkway feels somewhere distant, a vague murmur of magic – it’s enough to be able to guess its general direction, but not enough to be able to accurately predict how far away it is.

“Hours?” Stark prompts. “Days? Weeks? Months? Gimme something here.”

“A matter of days, most likely. Perhaps a week or two.”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame neither of us can fly or anything. Wouldn’t want to speed up the return time. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Flying is only useful if we know precisely where it is that we’re trying to get to rather than in imprecise terms. And if you were to fly, it would not go unnoticed by those that inhabit this realm.”

“You’re an illusionist. I thought you’d have it covered. And with you basically being a bloodhound but for magic, are you sure there’s nothing about this path thing that’ll show up on my scanners?”

If there’s anything worse than wandering for days with Stark by his side, having to cling to his armour as he flies is a humiliation Loki will not suffer again.

“It won’t,” Loki confirms. “Walkways only reveal themselves to magic users.”

“Uh-huh. So not like taking the wardrobe to Narnia, then.”

“Walkways make themselves known to those who are at the very least adept at detecting magic, provided the individual is receptive enough. Anyone else wishing to use one must have found one either by stumbling into it or know of it by word of the mouth.”

“Oh, so it _is_ like the wardrobe. And it sure is convenient you’re the only person who can find it. Like I need another reason to keep you tethered.”

“I am not some _dog_ to be kept on a leash.”

The chains may be unbreakable but the attachment Stark has fixed to his armour is not. Loki reaches a hand to yank one of the chains in order to break the link, but Stark points a finger at him.

“Bad boy,” Stark says, opening his faceplate to look him in the eye. “I’m gonna make one thing clear: I’ve got an electrocution upgrade. A hell of a lot of volts, by the way. Which’ll be deadly for humans, but as for you… I don’t know whether it’d kill you outright or just make you crispy, but the one thing I know for sure is this: it’ll hurt. A lot. So if you try to break the chain or lead us to a place where I’m gonna get killed or something wants to kill me – including you, big guy – you’re gonna get hit by something real nasty.”

Most unfortunate. The chains must go at one point or another, but this is a complication Loki will have to work around regardless of whether or not it is a bluff.

Loki crosses his arms as much as he can, chains rattling as he does. “Is that so? I recall the effect of your, ah, blasts upon our first encounter. They left something to be desired.”

“You think after realising ‘guess what guys? There are aliens and not all of them are friendlies!’, I didn’t immediately start coming up with new designs? Because if you do you are seriously underestimating me. Oh, and another thing. Heimdall’s probably not gonna go looking for us out here, not if he doesn’t know which world you’re on. But you got Thor to thank for me knowing that if I shout ‘Heimdall’ loud enough, the big guy with the sword is gonna come-a-looking.”

“Are there any more threats you feel like making while you’re in the spirit of it? I would _hate_ for you to miss out on my account.”

“There is, actually. Just one more. If it turns out you’re lying about this, if you try to stab me in the back – or front or side, don’t think you can catch me out on my wording here – I will personally kill you myself. Got it?”

“You may try.” Loki makes a mockery of a bow. “I would expect nothing less.”

* * *

There aren't many hours of daylight left, but they spend the rest of it walking. The path is steep and it leads them over the peak of a jagged mountaintop where they find shelter below a sheer rock face.

Stark makes a point of keeping the other end of Loki’s chain attached to his armour. In return, Loki makes a point of walking as noisily as possible, each step resulting in the clanking of metal – there’s little reason to be concerned about whether they will be heard; they can see for miles from this high up and everywhere they look is barren. 

They set up camp in the area sheltered from the wind. Stark has brought everything he requested of him following their conversation in his cell. All the items are contained within Stark’s flying suitcase that follows wherever they go, adorned with the same metallic red and gold of his armour. A large tent. Warm sleeping bags. Flasks for hot water. A portable stove. Food. Cooking utensils. Spare warm clothing. 

Perfect. Loki is pleasantly surprised. 

In his own compartment of the tent – Stark is insistent on keeping them tethered together, so it is fortunate that the chain happens to be a long one – Loki finally has something resembling peace. 

Or he would do, if not for the memory of it. Or rather, the unknown aspects of it that plague him. Frigga. How exactly she died. Whether it happened quickly or if it was drawn out. How much pain she was in. And worse: how easily it could have been avoided.

_You might want to take the stairs to the left_. 

It had seemed like a good idea to say it at the time.

And then there are Stark’s thoughts, perpetually loud and even more grating. They’d been quieter during the day. Presumably they’d all filtered out through Stark’s monologuing before the prayers transmitted, but with Loki being out of his sight they have made an unwelcome return:

_Wonder which will win: you wanting to kill me or you being a complete mamma’s boy. You know, I never saw that last one coming. Guess I figured you just spawned into existence or something._

And later: _Does you being quiet mean I should be worried?_

* * *

By the following morning, they’ve packed up all of their equipment and are on the brink of embarking when Stark has an announcement to make.

Consequently, the worst part about the chain, Loki decides, is this. The complete indignity of it.

“I do not,” Loki repeats, “want to have to witness you urinating.”

“Hey – some people would pay thousands for the experience.”

Loki’s lip curls. “You Midgardians are utterly depraved.”

“Just, I don’t know.” Stark waves a hand. “Turn around. Take a nice look at the landscape. Pretend you’re having a leisurely stroll or whatever else you do in your spare time other than fantasise about world domination.”

Loki shakes his head but complies, turning his back. Stark’s boots crunch on the snow as he puts more distance between them, enough to make the chain grow taut. There is a metallic clink following the sound of a zip unfastening.

A beat passes. And then–

“Oooh – it steams!”

* * *

It happens after they’ve been walking for hours, leaving a trail of footprints in the unbroken snow as they descend through the centre of a valley.

The noise is subtle at first, the sound of something softly sliding over the ice, so quiet Loki only notices it during the gaps in which Stark is not blathering about to what extent Jotunheim could be in constant darkness. 

Something is moving and it’s getting louder.

Loki keeps looking for the source of it but he can’t find anything. There are no signs of any Frost Giants, no signs of wolves or owls with bodies almost as large. 

“Do you hear that?” Loki asks.

Stark pauses in his tracks. “Hear what?”

Loki holds out a hand for silence. To his surprise, Stark acquiesces.

“Friday – anything out there you wanna tell me about?” Stark asks after a long moment of intent listening, voice quiet. Loki is hit by confusion until he realises that Stark is talking to something inside his armour. “Shit. We’ve uh got company.” Stark points a finger to a spot on the mountain.

It’s then that Loki sees it.

The thing is a centipede of monstrous proportions, snaking through the snow like a gigantic eel, its white shell camouflaging it with its surroundings.

Stark turns to him. “Don’t do anything. I’m gonna–”

Too late. The beast is close enough that they can safely determine it’s heading directly for them.

Each of its hundreds of legs is faster than their eyes can follow, sticking out at either side and moving in a wave-like motion, one after the other.

Loki summons his knives and conjures the image of snow so that it disguises him against the backdrop of white while Stark rises in the air – only by a few meters, it’s as far as the chain will allow – and aims his palms at the beast’s head, waiting for provocation.

The shell will protect the creature from Loki’s knives – he gets closer to reliably hit the gaps in between. Only as he does so, the beast’s head follows him. Unfortunate. It must be able to detect the tremors in the ground when he walks.

“Hey!” Stark shouts, waving his arms to get its attention. Its head whirls around, antennae quivering, and Stark sends a warning blast that lands a foot in front of it. 

The beast rears up on its hindmost legs. Its mandibles are on full show, two claw-like pincers, each one larger than Loki’s hands, positioned right in front of its mouth.

It intends to stand and fight then. 

Loki sinks into a crouch to send a dagger flying, only as he extends an arm backwards it’s stopped by the chain between his wrists having reached its limit.

“Stark!” Loki shouts. “Unclip my chain!”

_So you can slip away and leave me to deal with this alone?_ Stark asks. _From one opportunist to another: nice try._

Stark fires another warning shot instead. This time the beast brings itself to an even higher height and opens its mandibles, stretching its arms out wide.

Loki dives to one side. His movement is hindered by the chain jolting him in place. The beast’s upper body thrashes its way towards him, and four legs succeed in grabbing him before he slices through them.

_Great_ , Stark directs at him. _Now all you’ve done is piss it off_.

The beast is trying to curl around him now, and Loki keeps having to dodge and slash as he encounters more and more legs.

“The chain!” Loki shouts again.

“Er – no. Different plan!”

Stark fires a shot at the beast. It hits. The thing recoils and hisses, legs and body twitching.

“Awesome.” Stark lands next to Loki with a thud. “Our cue to get out of here before we encounter any more of Godzilla’s bug friends.” He begins attempting to march them further away. “Wait. Something feels missing. Shit – the suitcase! Where's the case?”

Loki turns around. The red and gold case with all the belongings Stark brought sits in the beast’s clutches.

Stark lets out a loud groan. “Don’t tell me. It likes the smell of my sandwiches.” Then he starts charging towards it.

The sound of impact: a loud thwack. The beast sends Stark flying through the air; something Loki only gets to enjoy witnessing for a fraction of a second before his chain yanks him along with him and he lands face-first in the snow. 

Stark spares him no thought – he rushes forward, firing blast after blast as he makes his way towards the case. 

The beast does not retreat. The beast attacks with more vengeance than before, suddenly curling around Stark, ensnaring him in a grip of tens and tens of arms. 

Something metal crunches.

Loki has no time to deliberate. He flings his daggers – one for the creature's neck, and another that shears an antenna. The creature flinches and in that moment of weakness drops Stark before it retreats, scuttling back through the snow so fast it blurs.

Loki is not sorry to see it go.

That is, until he notices that it has retreated with the case still in its clutches.

* * *

“Shit,” Stark curses. “Fuck.”

Loki glances at him to observe the damage. “You’re not injured.”

“I’m not but my armour sure is.”

“It looks fine to me.”

“Wow – you really don’t get it, do you? First off there’s the massive crack here, and second, just in case you haven’t noticed, that thing took all our supplies – including all my spare batteries. The battery I’ve got in is almost dead. You know what that means? That means I won’t be able to use the suit’s heaters. It means if we come across any other nasties I’m not gonna be able to use my repulsors. It means I won’t be able to fly us anywhere if we need to.”

“Take off your armour.”

Stark looks at him as if he has lost his mind. “So you _are_ trying to kill me. You know, stabbing me would be faster.”

“I happen to have spare clothing that will keep you warm for the time being.”

“We both know it’d be more in your best interests to leave me to freeze to death.”

“I don’t intend to be wearing these for the rest of my life,” Loki says with a nod to the cuffs.

“Mm. Yeah. Past-me planned at least one thing well, anyway.”

Loki summons some of his old furs, black with a gold lining, and Stark accepts them with a small frown.

“You sure these aren’t, I don’t know, gonna strangle me in my sleep?”

“If you want to take your chances here without your armour providing additional warmth then be my guest.”

Stark puts on the furs. After he does so, his armour reattaches itself to him, the plates sliding further apart to accommodate for the extra size the clothing has added to his form. Loki watches the metal as it moves, the way that it slides and locks into place, the elegance and precision of it that seems at odds with the rigidity of the material.

“I wasn’t aware your armour could do that,” he comments. 

Stark smirks – Loki suspects he’s keeping the faceplate open purely for that reason. “I have a designer. He’s _amazing_.”

* * *

The food is gone. As are all of the cooking implements and the tent and the sleeping bags. The beast took them all with it; no doubt it must have smelled the food within and decided not to bother hunting them when it could have its own pre-prepared food.

Loki's own pocket dimension isn't entirely without supplies, though they are a great deal more limited than the ones Stark brought. For one thing, they have no food, only one or two means by which to acquire it. And for another thing... No, Loki decides, he has no desire to think of that until he's forced to later this evening.

For now, acquiring food is the biggest priority. 

Jotunheim proves itself not to be an easy realm in which to hunt. The open planes have little to no yield. They are not completely empty, but the animals that cross it are few and far between. The forests are too far away for them to search yet, still in the distance. All they have here is snow and ice. 

Ice.

That gives Loki an idea. 

All they need is to find a lake.

* * *

"Are you sure you're supposed to hold it like that?" Stark asks. He's been standing behind Loki since they first found the opening, an unwelcome presence at his back. 

"Yes, thank you, Stark. I know how to handle a spear. But it would be helpful if I didn't have to attempt to do this with such limited arm movement."

"The chains stay on."

Loki catches a dart of movement underneath the hole in the ice and strikes with his spear. 

It misses.

"I bet you're enjoying this," Loki mutters darkly.

"Watching you fail to catch a fish? Sure, in any situation apart from the one where my stomach is running on zero, it'd be pretty entertaining."

Loki makes another stabbing motion. "I meant the chain."

"You think this is a kink thing or something? Because, sure, you rock chains, but even if that was my thing it's cold enough here there’s no way anyone could do anything without some serious shrinkage."

Another stab – he catches a fish this time. "You think that bringing the topic of conversation into those borders is going to deter me from naming what I see before me?"

Stark makes a point of looking down between his legs. “Good. Nothing to see there. That would’ve been embarrassing. Maybe even one of the few times it’d be more embarrassing for me than it would be for anyone else.”

"You enjoy the power it gives you. To hold a god on a leash."

"Trust me, you're pretty and I'm flattered, but that isn't good enough to make me wanna overlook your, uh, general homicidalness."

"Need I repeat my previous point?" Loki makes another catch and adds the fish to the pile on the ice. "I _will_ be rid of these chains, Stark, one way or another. And my advice to you would be that the sooner I achieve that, the better your outlook is."

"I'm already on an alien planet going to literal hell with a guy way too fond of defenestration, and we’re both stuck with no supplies other than whatever you’ve got lying around in your magic pockets. Oh, and there's nothing to eat but sushi. Can't forget about that one. My outlook can't get much lower. Not unless I get space-worms, anyway."

"You'll have far more to be concerned with other than parasites when the Allfather realises what you have done."

"You mean the part where I broke you out or the part where if I get your mom back he won’t know what to do with me?"

"Both. And then there's also however you acquired possession of these chains to take into consideration. The Allfather certainly won't have allowed it."

"Yeah, he's not exactly the giving type."

Loki pauses. "You met him?"

"I think I managed to piss him off before I’d even opened my mouth. Which, okay, is nothing new. But this was before he first saw me or knew who I was, which is saying something. Kinda refreshing, actually," Stark says and Loki's mouth twitches. "I figured with the whole peace between worlds thing I was supposed to be maintaining – yeah, I know, don’t look at me like that, I do have some self-awareness – I’d play nice to avoid the whole alien PR nightmare. But since I don’t have the best track record, I thought I’d just get by fine by avoiding anyone in charge of anything. Then Thor happened."

"Ah," Loki says dryly. "He does have a tendency to do that."

"It's not like I had plans to stick around Asgard for long. Not really tourist-friendly."

"Asgard prides itself in its hospitality. Throwing feasts in the honour of its guests, the tournaments, the drinking..."

Stark makes an amused noise. "Maybe if those guests don't happen to be human."

_Or Jotun_ , Loki adds privately. "And the chains?" he probes.

"I er... overheard a plan of Thor's."

"One that involved chains?"

"Sort of. It involved you as well as the chains, actually. Thor wanted to get Jane off-world because she had this thing in her and...”

“What thing? Would it hurt to be a little more specific?”

“Might do, actually. Who knows what you’d do with that info. I’m keeping this on a need to know basis. Anyway, the Allfather said no to letting Jane go wherever. So Thor started thinking of a plan. Loudly discussing it, in fact." He catches the look Loki gives him. "Alright, so he was actually being pretty subtle about it for Thor. Only discussing it in front of people he trusted, making sure not to act suspiciously. And, well, he happened to mention chains that were in Asgard's vaults. And how he'd use them on you when he came for you."

Loki goes completely still. "He was going to come for me?"

"He wanted you to be his ride off-world. So he could sort out the thing going on with Jane and get rid of the guy responsible for crashing into your big fancy palace."

Oh, how sweet it is to learn he’s become so popular all of a sudden, but only because he has _uses_. And even then, only as a desperate last resort, a liability, even when it comes to Frigga. Maybe _especially_ when it comes to Frigga, he realises. It all comes back to those stairs.

"And you thought you'd make me a better offer, is that it?" Loki bites out.

"You got me. But isn’t getting your mom back better than getting revenge?"

Loki doesn't answer that. Can't. "So you betrayed your teammate." He takes a step closer, grip tight around the spear. "If all you wanted was answers to your questions, you could have waited. You could have joined the delightful adventure I'm sure Thor had in mind and you wouldn’t be held responsible for freeing a prisoner – which is an act of treason, might I remind you. But you didn't."

_Ding ding ding! Shame you have a brain that works_.

Stark shrugs. "I told you there was another request I'd make later on as part of the terms we agreed on."

“A request that makes the risk of losing peace between Asgard and Midgard worthwhile? A risk that makes losing the alliance of Thor worthwhile? Now _this_ is intriguing.”

“It's not like Thor doesn't have other ways to get off-world. And the thing about all these people being mad at me? You’re all from the same family. Odin. Thor. Hell, even you. And there’s one thing you all have in common, one thing you’ll put anything aside for, one thing you’ll let things slide for if I get this right.”

Frigga.

Loki will not say her name aloud, not when it’s being used as a bargaining chip. “Then you’d better hope we retrieve her, Stark. Your life depends on it.”

“There’s a lot of stuff my life’s depending on these days.”

“I wonder who could possibly be at fault for that," Loki says flatly. "But what about the chains? They can't have been easy to swipe from the vaults."

"Not under normal circumstances, no. But it makes everything a lot easier when most of the guards disappear to deal with the whole invasion thing."

* * *

“What,” Stark says when the last of the daylight is dwindling and they begin to make camp, “is that?”

“You know perfectly well what it is, Stark.” It is the thing Loki has been dreading for most of the day.

“Uh – I really hope I don’t. Because if that thing is a tent, I swear to god–”

“While I’m sure you have a large pool of gods to select from, it’s usually helpful to be a _little_ more precise.”

“You’re shitting me, right? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“The tent is from my pocket dimension. I didn’t have access to it when I was in my cell due to the ward, but–”

“You call that thing a tent? There's not enough fabric to wrap around Tarzan's waist. Is it an Asgardian thing? Why is it so _small?”_

“It hasn’t been used in centuries.”

“So are you telling me anything in your magic Mary Poppins bag slowly shrinks over time or am I gonna be finding a growth chart just so I can get that visual from your pre-angry Christmas tree days?”

“The tent also wasn’t designed for a large number of people.”

“So how many people was it designed for, really? Maybe I’ve never been camping up until yesterday, but to my untrained eyes, it doesn’t look like more than one.”

“It was supposed to just be for me,” Loki says. Then his voice grows bitter. “Believe me, I am far from delighted by the prospect of sharing such close quarters.”

"In that case, you better get cosy, Snowflake. Looks like you and I are gonna have sleepover funsies."

* * *

The furs Loki lent provide enough warmth that Stark is not shivering if they are moving, but it proves a problem when they are stationary. 

It is night again, and if even Loki is feeling the chill through the walls of the tent, then Stark, in his weaker mortal form, must be feeling it even more. 

Stark sits, arms wrapped around himself, shivering. “I read about you before I started my visits. Aren’t you supposed to be a fire god or something? Can’t you, you know, summon some?”

“You mistake me for Logi.”

“Am I supposed to recognise that name? Is he a Mario character or something?” Stark runs his hands up and down his arms. “Guess I should've known better than to hope you could just magic up some warmth." He rearranges himself into an even smaller form, legs pulled up tighter. “You got anything else in that magic pocket thing of yours you can whip out?”

Loki summons a blanket. “This is the last of it.”

“I’ll take it.” He begins the process of cocooning himself inside. “Don’t suppose there’s anything else we can use to make a fire? I mean, I can ignite it if we have to. It’s not gonna use up much juice if I get a flame from my boots for two seconds.”

“And what do you propose we use as kindling? Have you seen our surroundings? And even if we were close enough to the forest to gather wood, I doubt it would be dry enough. I’d also rather err on the side of caution with attracting as little attention as possible. We’re at a high elevation so the fire would be visible for miles around at night, even if the smoke isn’t.”

Stark’s mouth twists. “You mean you’re worried about attracting the attention of bugs bigger than they have any right to be again? Speaking of – what else is out there? They can’t be the only things here, they’ve gotta eat something.“

“Bears, large birds of prey, wolves. And…” Loki hesitates. “The Frost Giants. They are our greatest threat.”

“Great. Giants. Why can’t they be cute little frost elves instead?”

“The only surviving elves are from Alfheim. They have the ability to curse and bless, yes, though I’ve never heard of anything being able to manipulate ice other than–” He cuts himself off before he can bring up the Frost Giants again.

But Stark is grinning. An irritating, infuriating grin. _I know something you don’t know_ , his thoughts sing-song.

“Wait a minute,” Stark says. “Elves?” The intonation is well calculated; if Loki hadn’t been able to hear his previous thought, he might have mistaken it for genuine disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? They’re actually real?”

“Of course they’re real.” Despite Stark’s response being the opposite of that. Why would he bother to lie? What does Stark have to do with elves? “Why wouldn’t they be real?”

“Because you can’t bring up elves and not expect me to have a vivid mental picture of Orlando Bloom and the saga of his majestic hair.”

“Don’t be absurd. No self-respecting elf would go by the name of Orlando Bloom.” The statement is uttered before Loki fully remembers himself. 

Stark snorts. “If frostbite wasn’t a very real possibility right now, I’d be giving you a rundown.”

Now that he mentions it, what little skin is visible has gotten oddly pale. Loki wonders precisely how cold Midgardians need to get before they succumb to the cold.

“Remember how you realised me being kept alive is in your best interests what with me being your, uh, key to the cuff-key?” Stark asks and Loki has a feeling he won’t like where this is going. “Well, I’m gonna need more warmth.”

“I have given you all I have.”

“Nope. I mean, in terms of clothing and blankets, sure. But that’s not gonna cut it. I need more, I need, well, anything. You’ve got body heat. That’s better than nothing.”

Loki frowns. “I’m not certain what you are suggesting.”

_I think you know_.

Stark unfolds a portion of the blanket. “For the record, I don’t like this either. But I’m not above snuggling with someone who tried to kill me in order to keep all my fingers and toes.”

The word ’snuggling’ registers. Loki stares in horror. “Absolutely not.”

Stark shoots him a scathing look, the effects of which are somewhat diminished by how much he is shaking. “I’m not gonna start calling you my snuggle-bear, if that’s what you think will happen here.”

“I would still very much rather not.”

“If I freeze to death, you’re never gonna get the key to unlock your chains. And think of it this way – this tent’s so small we’d be sleeping head to toe anyway.”

Loki’s hands ball into fists as he eyes the blanket. “Fine,” he finally utters. “I will sit underneath it. But don’t think this is a favour to you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetcheeks.” Stark presses something and his armour unfolds itself. There is a short pause. “Um – as much as I love your pillow talk, can you move things along faster? I’m probably edging closer towards hypothermia here.”

Loki lunges forward to snatch his end of the blanket. “I am not happy about this.”

“No – really. I can’t think of a single person I’d rather do this with. I’ll give you credit for one thing though – I’ll take you over Hammer any day. And you come with a freebie – your glare will give me a good night’s sleep. Nice and warm and toasty.”

Exasperation makes Loki place himself with more force than necessary, sitting so that he remains a foot from making contact with Stark before tucking the other end of the blanket around himself.

There. There should be enough heat generated from Loki’s skin to warm the rest of the space in the blanket sufficiently.

Stark looks at the gap then back at Loki. “That’s, uh, not gonna cut it.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope. I’m just– I’m gonna plonk myself right here.” Stark shifts himself so that his arm and leg are pressed against his and Loki tries not to stiffen too overtly. “Scowl all you want. Just don’t try to throw me over a mountaintop. I mean it – if I snap my fingers because you’re trying to kill me, the suit will come running.”

“I wasn’t scowling,” Loki lies.

“Let me guess. Just got a bad case of resting murder face. Least it’s not contagious. Unlike space-worms.”

Stark is still shaking, only now Loki can feel it because it’s right up against him, permeating through his side. 

Loki hates this. Hates what he’s having to put up with. Hates the forced closeness of it all.

For Frigga, he reminds himself. He just needs to cooperate with Stark for long enough to get to Frigga and for long enough to keep Stark from alerting Asgard to his whereabouts until it is too late.

“Is it…” Loki trails off, uncertain of how to follow. “Is this actually working? Are you any warmer?”

“Well it’d help if you weren’t just lying there like a slab of rock, but whatever. I’ll warm up soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've discovered that apparently I have a thing for Loki and a companion having to go on a long walk through nature (bonus points if it's a wintry environment). Bit of a weird niche, but you know what? I'm actually fine with this.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki has been lying awake for most of the night.

This is foreign. Lying next to another person. Not that it’s an entirely new experience, it’s just that lying with _Stark_ is a new experience.

Stark hadn't fallen asleep easily, but at least it only took him a matter of hours to force himself to relax against the feel of another body touching his, even if the body did happen to belong to someone who once tried to kill him. Having a form so weak that a day's worth of travel forces it to succumb to sleep so easily is, for the first time, almost enviable. 

And yet, even in his sleep, Stark is neither still nor quiet. There are disturbances throughout the night, twitches and sudden changes in his breathing, going from slow and steady to rapid and out of control.

Loki elects not to wake him. Not purely for the sake of making him suffer, but because of the uncertainty of it. How would he broach the subject if Stark was to ask why he woke him? Stark being plagued by unpleasant dreams is something that feels too intimate to know, makes him vulnerable in a way that’s discomforting rather than useful. Or perhaps it’s the quiet dread that comes with it that is uncomfortable, the gnawing suspicion that if this journey is a long one, if he is sleeping by his side for long enough, then Stark might be able to make more than a few observations of his own.

* * *

Stark’s prayers wake Loki from sleep.

_You’re still kinda asleep over there by the looks of it_. 

Loki wishes he had the mercy of remaining unwoken by Stark’s persistently noisy thoughts.

_Good. Maybe you were too asleep to notice. Even if you’re mostly to blame for the falling nightmares_.

Falling. Loki has had terrible dreams of falling, nothing but the expanse of space below him. Sometimes his dreams take him back there to try to convince him that everything that’s happened since has been a dream and that he’s still there, endlessly falling. Other times his dreams take him back there – not to relive the falling, but to relive when he landed. 

Loki doesn’t know which iteration is worse.

* * *

They are walking again. The feel of the pathway is getting stronger. Not as quickly as Loki would like, but it’s still considerably stronger than it was when they first arrived on Jotunheim. 

They’re at the brink of the forest they saw on their first day and the trees are so tall that it’s difficult to see where they end. The branches are thick with pine needles, making the area a sea of deep emerald topped with glistening white snow.

Stark halts. “Second question before we go any further,” he announces. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten our deal – I get five questions altogether.” He lifts up his faceplate; the armour isn’t active unless he tells it to be, but for now it continues to serve as protection – that, and walking inside of it must be the easiest method of transporting it without using any of its power. “You told me the name of the guy you were working for, that was question number one. So question two is what does Thanos want?”

It is strange hearing ‘Thanos’ come out of the mouth of someone who doesn’t know him, someone who doesn’t have any true notion of who or what he is and what will be coming.

Loki deliberates before responding. “He wants,” he finally says, “the Infinity Stones.”

“All of them?”

Loki nods. “All six of them.”

“Alright. Guess I figured as much could be possible.“

Loki makes as if to move. “Shall we be on our way then?”

“Whoa, there. Hold it. That wasn’t a full answer. Thanos can’t want the Infinity Stones just for the sake of his new-age crystal collection. What’s he planning to do with them?”

It takes a few seconds for Loki to speak. “Thanos wants to be a god. No. Not just any god – _the_ God. The only god.”

An alarmingly perceptive look crosses Stark’s face. “Wait a second. Asgard is god central. Does that mean it’ll be Ragnarök when he attacks? No, wait. I thought Ragnarök was only supposed to happen after you–”

“The prophecies foretold by your people are often not entirely correct predictions. There are usually grains of truth in them, however.” He tries not to think of the parallels between the Sceptre poisoning his mind and the poison mentioned in the stories of the dripping venom, of the connection with the chains from the story and the ones around his wrists. “But truths become easily distorted and more open to interpretation as time passes. I doubt I will directly cause Ragnarök – Thanos will see to that.” He makes no mention of him _indirectly_ causing Ragnarök, of him being the only reason why Thanos knows Asgard exists and how to get there.

“Huh,” Stark says after a long moment. And then, “Is it bad there’s a part of me that’s glad it’s not Earth in trouble this time?”

Loki finds something darkly amusing about that. "I was under the impression that your kind was supposed to at least pretend to be altruistic."

"By 'my kind' do you mean humans or billionaires?"

"I mean those who oh so modestly give themselves the titles of heroes."

"Heroes and assholes aren't mutually exclusive. Anyone who thinks they are needs more imagination. I can save lives while being an asshole. Kinda my gimmick. Nothing like the look on Steve's face when he can't say a word about it because I'm still being nice."

"While also not being nice," Loki finishes.

"Exactly. Good to know someone gets it."

"Even if that someone happens to be someone you despise?"

“Despise is a strong word.”

“My point still stands.”

“Fine. I should probably be more worried about you being the only person who gets it – which you really shouldn't, by the way. You're not being nice while also being an asshole – you're being an asshole while also being a bigger asshole."

Loki's mouth quirks. "Has anyone ever commented on your profound gift for figurative language?”

"Yup. You got me. Me and my subtle metaphors. I'm famous for them."

* * *

The blanket sharing happens again the following night. Loki doesn’t know why there’s a part of him that’s surprised. Nothing has changed, Stark’s suit still doesn’t have power for it to be worthwhile risking the last of it to generate heat.

But it’s still strange. 

Sleep comes a little easier. Whether it’s from the weariness of travelling or this experience not being quite so new anymore, Loki cannot say. 

This time when Stark starts stirring in his sleep, Loki gives him a small nudge, one that could pass as nothing more than him moving in his sleep.

Just so he can sleep easier, of course. The ‘he’ in question being Loki. Not Stark. 

Obviously.

* * *

The best part about being in a forest, Loki decides, is that they can finally eat something that isn't fish. 

The day begins with a hunt. They’re following tracks in the snow belonging to some sort of deer when there’s a loud screech above them.

An owl. Pure white, with a wingspan twice as long as Loki is tall, claws poised as it descends.

Then it’s upon them.

Loki waits for talons to dig into his shoulders, for its beak to start digging into his flesh, for it to seize him in its clutches. But none of that transpires. What happens is that it attacks Stark. Instead, Stark is the one trapped within its claws and is the one raised from the ground as the owl takes flight with him within its grasp. 

One second passes. Then another. Then Loki is hoisted, yanked upwards by the chain around his wrists as he dangles meters below.

The ground begins to rescind as the owl flies higher. The treetops are getting further and further below, specs of green in the distance, and the chain is the only thing stopping Loki from falling.

For the first time, Loki is grateful for it.

Stark’s armour is active now, Loki can see it light up. Not that his explosives will do much good if it depletes all his armour’s energy – energy they, or the very least, Stark, will need to make it safely to the ground. Without it, Loki will have to fall, and the things that falling induces are things that are preferable to avoid.

“Don’t,” Loki warns when he sees him aim a hand. “Allow me.”

Then he begins to swing. Starts to build momentum with each thrust of his legs, getting closer and closer towards the owl's body before he’s able to reach out and grab its feathers, hoisting himself up on its back.

“Not your most elegant moment,” Stark comments. His faceplate is down but his tone is enough to reveal he’d found at least some degree of entertainment in watching Loki move like a pendulum.

“Do you have enough energy to be able to fly us back to the ground?”

“Think so.”

“Good,” Loki says. Not that falling from such a height would kill him unless he'd happen to land very unfortunately. “Now I need you to release your side of the chain.”

“I’m not unlocking–”

“I didn’t ask you to unlock my cuffs. I asked you to release the part of the chain that’s attached to you. There won’t be enough length in the chain for me to reach the creature’s neck otherwise.”

Stark hesitates before reaching a decision. “One condition. You gotta come for me straight after. If you kill it, we’ll be freefalling.”

“Freefalling does happen to be something I’d rather avoid if given a choice.”

“Fine. Here goes.” Stark unclips the chain from his armour.

Then Loki gets to work.

* * *

“Keep holding on tight, sugar.”

“What?” Loki shouts above the roar of the air in his ears.

“I said – keep holding on tight!”

“I can’t hear you!”

“I said– Forget it.”

The air is now silent. There is ground underneath Loki’s feet and he can let go of Stark, no longer having to cling to his arms. His fingertips have left imprints in the metal.

Stark depowers his armour and nods to the fallen owl nearby. “So… bird pie later?”

* * *

To Loki’s astonishment, Stark neither complains about the imprints in his armour nor does he reattach the chain to himself. Loki is no longer bound to him, though his wrists are still bound to each other, a few feet of links between them.

Sleep comes faster that night.

It's warmer like this, and would be more comfortable too, if not for the sheer amount of awkwardness it enduces.

Stark has been quieter this evening, in both mind and thought. 

After becoming so accustomed to constant noise, the silence is almost disconcerting.

* * *

Each morning they have to break the thin sheen of ice that has frozen to the walls of their tent and each evening it takes hours to strip away enough bark from dead trees to reach dry wood and light a fire hot enough to cook with. At least here, in the heart of the forest, the trees obscure the flames and smoke.

The air is easier to breathe here, too. The moisture makes it less sharp to inhale and the ground is easier to walk on, pine needles and twigs making the ice less slippery. The trees also provide shelter from the wind, though sometimes large piles of snow will fall unexpectedly from branches up high, causing them to startle.

Loki and Stark are perched on rocks by the fire, roasting the owl meat on sticks over the flames.

“You know one thing I’ve noticed about the nights here?” Stark begins.

From Loki’s observations, it is one of the few times when Stark will actually be quiet. He refrains from voicing that thought though.

“It’s the sky,” Stark continues. “I’ve been waiting to see something that looks like superimposed CGI, something wild like three moons up there or something.”

“Jotunheim has no moons.”

_Killjoy_.

“I could have spun you a tale about how you should wait until the turn of the month where an array of moons of different colours appear in the sky, but I assumed you wouldn’t appreciate the disappointment,” Loki adds. Too late, he realises he’s answered Stark’s prayer instead of something he’d voiced aloud. But Stark doesn’t appear to notice; he must have assumed his expression alone would have given his thoughts away.

“Maybe. Because if we’re here long enough, I’d give it a shot to see a conga line of rainbow moons. But without moons, I guess that means the tides must be pretty weak. Wait. Does Jotunheim even have oceans or is it all just frozen?”

Loki turns his meat over before answering. “There are stories about there being vastly deep oceans far underneath the ice that cover the entirety of the realm, though I’m not certain of the legitimacy of them.”

“So Jotunheim must have a warm planet core if the water isn’t all frozen.” Stark takes a bite from the food on his stick. “And the ice you mentioned – is that over actual landmass or just over the sea?”

“The sea, if the stories are to be believed.”

“So you’re saying that somewhere meters and meters below me, there could be giant alien squids just swimming around doing their thing? Don’t answer that. You’ll ruin my fun. I think it’d be pretty awesome if they were.”

* * *

The blanket sharing is routine now. During the day they walk, and during the night they do… this. Share body heat. 

Loki isn’t sure what to make of it.

Stark has a body that needs to be kept warm. Loki has a body that prefers to be kept warm. This is the logical thing to do; anything else would be nonsensical. There is no need to think anything else of it.

They are doing what they need to survive. Loki is doing this so the chances of bringing Frigga back, and walking free at the end of it all, are maximised.

It is simple.

* * *

When Loki wakes up it is to the sound of voices outside of their tent. 

He gathers himself up immediately, knives at the ready. 

Jotuns. A group of them. It has to be, no other species here has a language.

There’s no way to discern by listening how many of them there are, and when Loki leaves Stark still sleeping to creep forward and catch a glimpse from the flap of the tent, the view is too obscured by branches to see much beyond blue blurs running through the trees.

Have they been following them or have they just happened to stumble across their camp? Have the Jotuns surrounded them while they’ve slept? The instant Loki steps out – which he will have to do at some point – are they going to attack?

There are too many voices. Loki can fight them if he has to, but the sheer amount of them could be overwhelming before long – it certainly won’t have anything to do with their combat prowess. Maybe this is one of those instances when it would be prudent for Stark to activate his armour, because the only thing worse than failing to retrieve Frigga would be failing to retrieve Frigga _and_ being ransomed to Asgard by Frost Giants.

Loki has an idea of how to avoid that fate, though the thought of it makes his stomach churn, and it isn’t encouraging that it will only work if the Jotuns haven’t caught sight of them yet.

He closes his eyes.

The air becomes warmer, he can feel it upon his face like a gentle caress, though there should be nothing gentle about this. The Frost Giants are a cold and unfeeling race that know nothing of gentleness. This must be just a trick of his mind.

When he opens his eyes again, the hands before him are blue, lined with engravings. There are sharp pains in his forehead and at the tips of his fingers. His nails are extending into claws, such a dark blue that they’re almost black.

The sight of it makes him queasy. 

He reaches a hand to the tent opening, then pauses. Stark should be warned if they’re in danger. It would be beneficial to have him at the ready – if it comes to a fight, Stark has proven himself useful. And yet… 

And yet it would require Stark to see him in this form.

Voluntarily allowing it is incomprehensible.

Loki steps out of the tent.

* * *

No weapons are pointed. No creature tries to seize him. He isn’t even certain if his presence has been noticed.

The Frost Giants race through the forest haphazardly, some through the trees just in front of them, others further away. 

They are smaller than Loki anticipated. So small they can’t be fully grown.

Children. They are children. And the voices they’d heard – that must be them calling out to each other. 

One group is chasing the other, attacking with ice, freezing them in place. The other group is either desperately fleeing or using their powers to melt the ice.

Odd. It’s not a power Loki knew they had, but he supposes that if they – and oh, that’s rich isn’t it, to refer to them as ‘they’ as if he isn’t one of them – have the ability to conjure ice then it isn’t implausible that they have the ability to dispel it too.

The Jotun children are more savage than he’d thought. Half of them are remorselessly assaulting the other and there are no fully grown Jotun to prevent them. Assuming any fully grown Jotuns would bother, which may be a stretch of the imagination. For all Loki knows, Jotun young may be left to fend for themselves. He certainly was, the way the Allfather told it.

Another one of the Jotuns is caught and it lets out a shriek, but it doesn’t sound as Loki expects. There is no pain. No terror. It sounds closer to delight.

This is a game. The children are _playing_. 

There’s a rustle behind him. Loki turns around, expecting to be forced to have a confrontation with Jotun young.

Stark has emerged from the tent and is staring at him, eyes wide. “Who the hell are you?”

Loki shakes his head, trying to encourage Stark to stop drawing attention to them.

“Wait,” Stark utters. “Are you trying to shush me?”

“Stark,” Loki warns. “Can you–”

Stark blinks at him. “Wait. Is that you?”

Loki draws back. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

And neither are the Jotuns for that matter, surely anyone whose skin isn’t blue will be seen as a threat, a breach of the treaty between Asgard and Jotunheim. Now it’s clear they’re not being attacked, they should get out of sight immediately.

Loki wastes no time getting back inside the tent, returning to his usual form.

Stark pursues him. “You’re the only one who says my name like that so I figured it had to be you. And I saw you still looked mostly the same, just a lot more blue. How were you so blue? Is this normal for you? Are you having some kind of allergic reaction? Or is it more a case of instead of sparkling in the sunlight, it’s like you stole the wrong candy from the chocolate factory?”

“Neither.”

Stark is still staring at him.

Loki scowls. “Might I recommend closing your mouth every once in a while? The results will be mutually beneficial.”

Stark closes his mouth but has yet to stop staring. “Have you always been able to do that?”

Loki makes a point of shrugging. “Maybe. Probably.”

“And Thor?”

A laugh. A harsh sound. “No.”

“So turning blue isn’t a thing any Asgardian can do?”

Something must be broken – there’s something so darkly amusing about this all of a sudden. “None at all, in fact.”

“So it’s not an Asgardian thing. Huh. Thor mentioned you were adopted, but he never mentioned you were a totally different species.”

Loki stiffens. This is the first he’s heard that Thor has deigned to inform the Midgardians about his origins, even if he omitted certain details.

“Who were the other voices I heard?” Stark asks.

“Jotuns.”

“Should I be worried?”

Loki hesitates, then shakes his head. “They are children.”

Stark’s posture relaxes. “Oh, then I should definitely be worried.”

“I understand the sentiment well, though the only threat they currently pose is that there may be adult Jotun nearby. Some kind of settlement, perhaps. I recommend avoiding catching the attention of one.”

“Yeah, the suit’s not gonna fly. In more ways than one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Splitting a chapter in two instead of having an almost 7K word chapter? What _is_ this?
> 
> (I have been reliably informed that it's not actually cheating to do that, now my brain's just got to start accepting it.)


	4. Chapter 4

It’s easier to place an illusion of a Jotun over Stark than it is to attempt to hide him and his footprints in the snow, and so they make their exit; two Jotuns, one real, one false.

_So it turns out your magic holograms are pretty neat when you’re not using them against us_ , Stark thinks. _Wish I could see how Jotun-me turned out. Obviously, you’ve painted me over with that pastel blue, but what about the ruby eyes? Do I get those too? Do all Jotuns have red eyes or is there a spectrum of eye colour, like across a sunset? And your lines are kinda slick too. Not that you need any help accentuating your cheekbones. Actually, who am I kidding, the best thing about your look has gotta be–_

“Did you give me the majestic curls?” Stark blurts out.

Loki startles from trying to drown out Stark’s thoughts – his naive Midgardian perspective on the Frost Giants had been so incongruently at odds with the rest of the Nine Realms’ that it made for a discomforting listen. “I’m sorry?”

“You know, the horns.”

“I’m not quite following.”

Stark points at the top of Loki’s head. “I want some like yours.”

Loki’s hand flies up. It meets something hard, textured like bone, only with ridges in lines parallel to the curve.

Stark is correct – they are indeed horns.

Loki wasn’t made aware until now that he must be one of the fraction of Jotuns that have them; the Norns have had their cruelties but he’s never been forced to look at his reflection while in his Jotun form. 

“So…” Stark trails off. “Horns?”

“Oh. Yes.” Loki had forgotten Stark requested a pair. The concept of it is nothing short of bizarre, but even by Midgardian standards, Stark _is_ bizarre. Maybe they’re all like this. Ignorant of the taint of Jotunness. They must be. “Very well?”

Stark bows his head. “How do they look?”

“Like horns.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“Do they make me look like a goat? A demon? A rock god?”

_Demon_ , he’d said.

Loki tries not to flinch. “Something like that. Though you won’t have to suffer through wearing this illusion for long.”

No – because for Stark, it’s only a disguise. For him, it’s only a costume, something he can shed.

“Suffer? Are you kidding me? This is the most fun I’ve had since we got here. If you wanna play dress up more often, I’m game.”

Loki opens his mouth. Then closes it again. The sheer amount of incredulousness takes the words from him.

Finally, Loki manages to speak. “There have been plenty of occasions when you’ve had me convinced you have lost your sanity. On this occasion, however, you have somehow accomplished surpassing your previous record.”

* * *

Everything changes in the darkness. Stark becomes quieter, more subdued. Less prone to making offhand comments, less nonchalant, less guarded. Especially in his face – it’s enough to make Loki wonder whether Stark has significantly worse vision in the dark and that’s why it’s no longer a concern of his at times like this.

Because sometimes, Stark looks truly exhausted. And there are other times when there is something almost soft and gentle in his expression. 

It must be just because he is relaxed. 

For some reason, the realisation that it is only because he is relaxed comes with a slight sting.

Loki does not care to examine why.

* * *

“Hey there, Mr. Blue,” Stark greets as Loki emerges from the tent.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Blue because, you know.” He waves a hand, presumably to indicate Loki’s Jotunness. “Blue. When you want to be. Not right now, obviously.”

“Oh, well observed.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Sometimes I wish I could morph into something blue and horny. Hell, sometimes being blue and horny – metaphorically, that is – is just something that happens to us all when you go too long without–”

“I believe I'm familiar enough with Midgardian culture to understand the idiom,” Loki cuts in, voice flat.

“So at least when you go blue and horny, you’ve got some kind of control over it. And besides, it’s really not a bad look. Sure, it’s unconventional. And I’ve no idea what all the lines and markings mean. But it’s pretty elegant for a species you said were giants. And calling you giants seems a massive exaggeration – you’re tall but you’re not _that_ tall.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

Stark winks. “I literally can’t think of a single person I know who looks better horny than you do.”

“I believe you Midgardians have a saying about low hanging fruit.”

“You mean like the one for making the obvious joke? Because you’re practically inviting some spin about the fruit of someone’s loins here.”

Loki lets out a sigh. “Once again…”

“You mean low hanging fruit. Are we talking about jokes or loins here? Actually, it doesn’t matter. Either way, my answer is gonna be the same: I don’t limit myself _that_ much.”

“Unnecessary details, Stark.”

“We’ll be stuck together for who knows how long. Might as well get to know each other to pass the time.”

“I almost killed you. I invaded your planet. I should be the last person you would want to get to know.”

“Trust me, I’ve not forgotten. Wish I could, sometimes. You have no idea what it does to me whenever I think of New York. But this is bigger than that. This is about getting our – your, I mean – mom back. Oh, and getting intel on the thing out there that’s capable of scaring even you. So the better we cooperate, the better our chances are.”

Loki searches Stark’s face, though he’s not certain what he’s looking for. “I thought you weren’t supposed to play well with others. I thought you were supposed to be more narcissistic than that.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

Stark holds out a fist.

“Why are you holding your hand like that?”

“Oh. Right. You guys don’t do fistbumps on Asgard, huh? You’re supposed to punch it.”

“You want me to punch you?”

“No, no. Not me. Just the fist. And you’re supposed to do it gently. Just a tap.”

With a certain degree of resignation, Loki humours him.

* * *

_Do I tell you?_ Stark wonders later that evening. He’s doing a remarkable job of maintaining an expression of nonchalance that would otherwise be unnoteworthy. _Or is it just gonna make you flip?_

Loki has to hold his tongue to refrain from demanding to know what it is that he’s referring to. 

_You should know, though. If I were you I’d want to._

The only thing that’s giving Stark away now is a furrow between his brows, barely visible.

_Screw it._

“I met your mom,” Stark announces.

Loki jolts upright. “You met Frigga?”

“Yeah, Thor happened. Again. But your mom was way more welcoming than Odin. Had friendly twinkly mom-eyes and everything. She was… a lot nicer than I was expecting, actually.”

“How was she?” Loki hasn’t seen her in her real form since the day of his trial. “How did she look? What did she say to you? What did she _want_ with you?”

“She looked healthy, I guess. And kinda wistful sometimes, maybe? She never said much to me apart from a generic welcome to Asgard type thing – she was too preoccupied meeting Thor’s girlfriend for the first time. Oh, and Thor told everyone I was there to help with Jane’s condition. Or more specifically, the thing that was causing it. But your mom had this ‘hm sure, if you say so’ look in her eye.”

If it wasn't for learning more about Frigga, Loki might be more tempted to attempt to extract further information about this condition of Jane's.

“Frigga can have a tendency to be inconveniently perceptive at times,” Loki says, then swallows. “Or she could, anyway.”

“Look. I wasn’t just bringing her up to throw you off guard. I just thought you should know I actually want her back, too. It won’t be anywhere near as much as you do, let’s be real, but she seemed a nice lady.”

“She was.”

Stark turns to face him. “She'll still be when we get to her.” Something about the fierceness of the way he says it make it sounds like a vow.

* * *

Loki knows what this is. Survival and basic comfort is all there is to it. A body happening to be next to his is nothing worth taking notice of. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway. 

The worst part is that he has a suspicion that there is some part of him that looks forward to this part of the night, the part when Stark is asleep and Loki no longer has to worry about him seeing too much, the part when he can just close his eyes and feel the warmth of the illusion of companionship and forget about who he is and why they’re both here.

But that’s all it is.

* * *

They’ve breached the other side of the forest and are faced with wide-open plains of snow and ice. There’s nothing to shelter them and the assault of frozen wind is remorseless. There’s still approximately a third of their journey left; Loki hopes it won’t all be spent like this, with the wind too loud to allow them to communicate and the weather urging them to continue as quickly as possible so they can shelter sooner. 

The absence of the chain between them means that Loki keeps getting ahead without intending to, and he reaches an area of flat ground.

Something splinters. It’s a barely audible noise at first, but it’s followed by the area he's standing on shifting.

There’s a louder crack. 

Then Loki plunges.

The first thing he registers is how cold it is. The second is that he’s underwater.

His entire body is fully submerged and it’s happened so fast that it’s difficult to formulate a plan, difficult to think of anything except the lurch of panic.

The weight of his armour pulls him downwards. 

His eyes open. All he sees is blue.

Move. He needs to move. He can’t just let himself continue drifting downwards to the bottom of what must be a lake.

He tries to move his arms and legs to swim. They cooperate, but the coldness has made them far less effective than they should be. He is a god, but it seems that even gods are affected by temperatures this extreme.

The surface shouldn’t be that far away. He hasn’t been drifting for all that long, though his armour is certainly beginning to feel as if it weighs a lot. He’ll be able to swim with it still on though, it’ll just take longer than he’d like.

The bottom of the lake is so deep it’s barely visible, a dark mass somewhere deep below.

He cranes his neck up, squinting at the surface, trying to estimate how far he’s sunk. The problem, he finds, isn’t how far away the surface is. The problem is that he’s lost the hole he’s fallen through.

There’s nothing but a layer of ice above him. A whole ceiling of it.

He starts swimming more frantically, trying to find an opening.

No such luck.

_Loki?_ Stark asks. _Shit, where did you go?_

Stark mustn’t have seen him fall, he must have been too far behind. But it matters little now that it’s getting harder and harder for Loki to move his limbs. He’s acutely aware of the exact amount of air left in his lungs. There’s nothing for it: if he can’t find a way out, he’ll have to make one. He still has his knives, doesn’t he?

He swims higher, until his hands are able to touch the layer of ice above him. His daggers come easily, but getting the proper traction is another matter. The water would make his movements slow anyway, but combining that with the coldness and having to constantly move to remain in place as well the awkwardness of trying to pierce a hole at a perpendicular angle does not make for good results.

The ice is thick. Somehow, he must’ve managed to accidentally walk over the one area thin enough to break and _then_ managed to accidentally find an area too thick to break out of because the daggers are too short to go all the way through. He even tries throwing his entire strength behind the hand holding the dagger to force it through that way, but the angle and the water slowing him down takes the force out of it.

If the cold was bordering unbearable before, it’s definitely unbearable now. Enough to even contemplate…

No. He’s not talking himself out of this. If it’ll help against the cold, it’ll help him escape. If there’s anything he won’t do, it’s allow himself to fall like he did from the Bifrost again, only this time he won’t be able to breathe.

Loki changes forms. The blue creeps over his skin and now it doesn’t feel cold at all, though his lungs are protesting no less.

He starts beating at the ice again. Tries to cut a hole and whittle away further. It’s taking so long he isn’t sure he’ll last and his vision is starting to swim and it’s suddenly very difficult to do all of this at once.

But he can’t stop. If he stops, he will drown.

In sheer desperation, he swims out further, searching for somewhere where the ice is thinner, where there is more light coming through. He should have done that to begin with but it’s too late to waste time berating himself for it. 

Only sheer luck will save him now. Either that or... Isn't manipulating ice supposed to be something he should be able to do while like this? He doesn't know how to do it though, not without holding the Casket, and trying to push with his magic does nothing.

Something ripples through the water. Whatever it is, it’s moving directly towards him.

Loki braces his knives, expecting some kind of beast from below, only before he can act or even spot the creature, whatever it is collides with him.

Stark.

A hand grabs him and there’s the blast of something that propels them through the water.

Another blast.

Loki finds himself lying on his back in a pile of snow, pinned down by Stark’s weight.

The air is sweet. And sharp, too, like breathing in shards of glass, but Loki can’t get enough of it.

He is alive. He isn’t even entirely sure how it’s possible until he fully registers Stark’s armour, the fact that he must have had to use some of the last reserves of its energy on retrieving him. 

Another thing hits him: he is still in his Jotun form and Stark is right there, right above him, able to see each of the etched lines in his face, the way his eyes must be gleaming with that repulsive red.

“Got you,” Stark murmurs. He still hasn’t let go; Loki can feel each one of those metal-coated knuckles against his chest.

Loki swallows. Switches back forms.

And now this should be the moment he responds. It is silent and Stark has just spoken and Loki has yet to reply because he can’t think of a single adequate response.

In the end, all he manages is a nod.

* * *

There’s nothing to start a fire with. The open plains means there are no nearby trees or plants, and the wind only makes the coldness that is seeping through to Loki’s bones worse.

Stark busies himself in the snow. Loki isn’t certain what he’s intending to do until it becomes obvious that he’s building a wall to shield them from the air.

Stark glances at him. _You’re not looking so hot. I mean, far from your usual amount, that is. Can gods get hypothermia or is the worst that’s gonna happen is you just looking like a drowned cat?_

Stark beckons him over. “I’ve got a plan.”

Loki complies, though his legs have seized with stiffness. He swears water in his clothing is beginning to freeze over, both the leather and the layers of fabric that have absorbed it.

He is shaking. He is so cold it hurts to move.

There. He’s next to Stark now, protected from the worst of the winds behind the wall of snow.

A sound plan of Stark’s, that was. Loki should have thought of it himself.

Stark removes the boots of his armour and holds them up. “Last ditch warm up attempt before things get dire.”

The heat that comes out of the bottom of the boots is so strong that Stark has to hold them at a distance in order for it to be tolerable, but they are so hot they dry the clothing wherever Stark points them in a matter of seconds.

_You’re making me feel like I’m pampering you with an overpowered hairdryer. Just another day at the salon, starring me as your stylist. Wonder how much you’ll let me get away swooshing your hair._

_Jesus, this cold patch is chilly. Just let me make sure you’re not gonna die on me first._

That makes Loki look up. Oh. There’s a crack in Stark’s armour. The one from the giant centipede. Water must have seeped in that way when Stark had dived into the lake. And what had Stark been thinking? His armour would have been even heavier than Loki's, wouldn't it? If he’d been down there for any longer and had run out of power, he would have reached the bottom of the lake before Loki did, could have drowned from it.

“Stark?” Loki asks.

Stark jolts; apparently the sound of Loki’s voice has startled him. “What’s up? Er, apart from the obvious, that is.”

“How much of your power is left?”

“Enough.”

_Enough to dry you, at least. Aside from that..._

“Save your power,” Loki commands.

“What?”

“Turn off your boots. I’m not at risk of succumbing to the cold–”

“You want me to stop before you’re even fully dry?”

“I will be fine.”

At the hard edge in Loki’s voice, Stark depowers the boots. “You sure?”

“I said I will be _fine_.”

_You better be_. _I’m not having another person die on me, not even you_.

“You better be,” Stark says, and it’s odd hearing the repetition of his thoughts in his voice. There’s a small delay before he speaks again, this time the intonation not matching that of his thoughts. “If there’s one thing that’ll get me into even more trouble, it’d be you dying on me.”

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“Thermal scanning. There’s an inbuilt one in the suit. I could see you pretty much straight away when I realised something was wrong. Then you… Well, you disappeared off the radar. So I just went through the water as fast as I could – which is pretty fast with my thrusters, by the way – where I last saw you.”

“I changed forms. That would probably be the reason behind it.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“You should be disgusted.”

“Disgusted?”

“Either that or thankful. You barrelled into a Jotun, a Frost Giant. You are fortunate to be covered head to toe in metal.”

“Oh, right. I already know what you’re capable of. Like being a Jotun or Frost Giant or whatever is gonna make it any worse. Not unless there’s something you’re not telling me. Like if being Jotun means you give cooties to us Earthlings or something.” He takes in the look on Loki’s face. “You’re not serious.”

“If it wasn’t for your armour, you could very well be dead.”

“You say it like I’ve never heard that before.”

“I mean it. One touch from a Frost Giant can render a person completely immobile, frozen to the spot. Being Midgardian, you would be very susceptible to their attacks.”

“Good to know, I guess. Can’t you just, I don’t know, not attack me?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Stark shifts closer. “The whole icy Medusa effect – is that voluntarily or involuntarily?”

“I don’t know.” The words are coming out more rapidly the more he speaks. “I don’t know how to control it.”

“Warning taken. But – just a thought here – if I took you completely off guard busting you out the lake and you didn’t manage to accidentally freeze me or even make my armour get frosted up, I think I’ll be fine. Probably.” Stark is so close now that their arms are touching – something Loki is too taken aback by to decide whether or not to do something about it. “And if you’re dumb enough not to shapeshift into the more blue version of yourself for whatever reason – I get it, it’s complicated – then sit still.” It’s not a suggestion.

Loki is so cold he doesn’t have the energy to disobey. To his surprise, half of Stark’s armour removes itself as Stark sits next to him – not just next to him but _right_ next to him, the whole length of his body next to his. 

He wraps an arm around Loki’s back and rubs with a hand. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re freezing.”

“Stark,” Loki utters. “I don’t understand why you’re even–”

Stark stiffens and Loki can feel the exact moment when he does it. “I’ve told you why we both need to keep each other alive. Hell, we could even go one step further and make sure we’re both comfortable while we’re at it. Might as well, right?” Loki can feel Stark’s eyes on him, the heavy weight of them before Stark continues speaking. “And you… You’re capable of a lot of things, but if you were faking your reaction to what happened to your mom then so help me, I will leave you under the ice next time.”

Loki turns then, meeting Stark’s gaze and finding nothing but resolute steel staring back at him. “It wasn’t a trick,” he manages. His throat is making it difficult to speak.

Stark searches first Loki’s eyes, then the rest of his face, looking for evidence of treachery. “I believe you.”

Loki blinks. “You do?”

“Most people would think I’m being played, but yeah, I believe you.”

* * *

“You still cold?” Stark asks.

Loki doesn’t know how long they’ve been sat like this, only that the feel of the heat of Stark’s hand on his back does strange things to the passage of time, making it simultaneously pass by slowly and quickly all at once. Loki isn’t cold, not anymore. He could say as much but then Stark would move away as his assistance would no longer be needed. But if he claims to be cold, there’s a distinct possibility of Stark noticing that the opposite is true. Surely Stark can feel Loki just as much as Loki can feel Stark, can’t he?

“Stark?” Loki asks. His voice sounds very loud against the quiet despite him only speaking in a soft tone. “One thing, before we resume our journey.”

Stark’s hand twitches. “Er – yeah?”

“Thank you.”

The expression of utter shock on Stark’s face is almost insulting. 

Loki begins to extract himself. “I no longer require your assistance.”

“Uh – okay?” He watches as Loki gets to his feet before following suit. “Promise me one thing though.”

“Yes?”

“This is the twenty-first century. You can stop with this Stark this and Stark that. We’re cuddle-buddies, you don’t need to call me by my last name.”

“Anthony, then. Provided you never use the phrase _cuddle-buddies_ in my presence again.”

They begin walking, stride matching stride.

“Just out of curiosity,” Stark begins, “what would you call us, then?”

“Bed-warming partners would be the obvious answer.”

“You think _that_ sounds better?”

Loki supposes he has a point.


	5. Chapter 5

_Should I wake you up?_ The voice is quiet, distant from this world.

There are vague images of the blackness of the void, the nebulae interlaced between stars like cobwebs. Images of the hunger in Thanos’s eyes, the pride in them when Loki earned the right to wield the Sceptre.

_You need to wake up_. The voice is louder now.

The hunger twists and then it’s the hunger of a faceless creature, a monster, and Frigga’s face swims in front of him. Too late, Loki realises that he is the faceless creature, that he is the monster, and splatters of Frigga’s blood cover his hands and are smeared across his mouth.

_Wake up!_

Loki recognises that voice, can even place a name on it, but it doesn’t matter because the image has changed: the creature – is Loki the creature or is the creature Loki? – is killing Frigga in a hundred different ways: stabbing, tearing, eating, poisoning, impaling, squeezing, strangling, and Loki can see it all, how he’s the one doing it and yet he can’t do anything to stop it.

Loki is violently awoken by Stark shaking him. He sits up straight, gasping.

“You were having a nightmare,” Stark informs him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare the living shit out of you there.”

Panic takes hold: Stark must have witnessed enough to know he was having an unpleasant dream. 

Stark – Anthony – sees his expression. “I’m not immune to them. Got them loads after I fell out of the sky. They were the shit-scary kind, I’d get an inch from the ground before waking up convinced I was gonna die. Hell, sometimes I’d even convince myself I _had_ died and just hallucinated everything that happened after. So if you’re expecting me to tease you about it or use it against you, that ain’t gonna happen.”

Loki does not know what to say.

Is it stupidity or strength that Stark reveals such vulnerabilities about himself in front of him?

“Wanna go back to sleep?” Stark offers.

Loki lies back down and a head settles by his shoulder, close enough that Loki can feel the warmth of each breath. It isn’t the first time his head has been this close, but it’s the first time it’s happened while they’re both awake. It incites a strange feeling, an odd aching and flutteriness, a dance of adrenaline.

“If I’m here I’ll be able to feel it and wake you up again,” Anthony says and for some reason Loki is disappointed _that’s_ the reason why he decided to lie so closely, that his motives couldn’t be anything but practical.

Even if it does happen to be thoughtful. 

Very thoughtful, now that Loki comes to think of it.

“Okay,” Loki utters.

* * *

They’ve reached an area where there are holes in the ice. At regular intervals, hot water will shoot up out of them, spurting like fountains. 

It requires paying close attention to the ground because the water is so hot it will burn and Loki doesn’t like the possibility of the ice cracking underneath them – it’s a lesson learned the hard way. Finding a short way around is next to impossible because steep mountains surround them at either side, and so they tread carefully, maintaining a far distance from each hole and testing whether the ice will hold their weight before committing to each step. 

“Great,” Stark mutters. “A minefield of geysers.” Then he takes a step and his foot slips and Loki darts forward to catch him before he collides with the ice. There’s a moment when Stark looks utterly bewildered, so much so that he freezes as he discovers that it’s Loki who has caught him and who has hastily let go. “Um.” Stark still has a hold of his arm to try to find his footing again. “Thanks.”

* * *

Not too far ahead of the geysers, they find a spring. It’s nestled in the side of a hill, steam gently blowing from the surface of the water.

Loki tests the temperature with a hand. Warm. 

Neither of them have had the opportunity to properly wash since they’ve arrived, not counting the stint with falling in the lake. The water is very tempting.

Apparently Stark has similar thoughts because he’s already removed his armour and is in the process of removing his shirt. He does it entirely unabashedly, without a hint of reverence.

When he reaches towards his trousers, Loki feels the need to speak: “Do you have no care for modesty, Stark?”

“I thought we talked about you not calling me by my last name like we’re in a Dickens novel anymore.”

“Anthony, I meant to say.”

For that, he receives an odd look.

“It’s kind of weird to hear anyone call me anything but Tony.” Stark – Anthony – _Tony_ – points to the spring. “That’s warm and I need a bath. Therefore…” He waves a hand, then stops. “Were you seriously trying to tell me you’d prefer it if I didn’t wash? Because if even _I’m_ aware how much I need a wash then you must be _very_ aware of it.”

“Yes, but do you have to–”

“If I leave my underwear on there’s no way it’s gonna dry unless we stick it over a fire for a while and there’s still no wood in sight. And I’m not dealing with it chafing or hiking without wearing it so the boxer-briefs have gotta go.”

“Then could you perhaps give a little warning next time?”

“Next time? They’re not even off yet.”

“Yes, but the rest of your clothes already are.” 

“Fine. I’m dipping my legs in, then everything else is coming off. You can, I don’t know, turn around or something if it bothers you that much. Is it a culture thing? I’ve never seen more than a lick of skin from you. Maybe it’s just a you thing, what with the whole allergic to sunlight look you’ve got going on. But Thor’s got no fear of having his arms out, people love that.”

“There is a difference between just the arms and the… rest of the body.” Not that it has ever bothered Thor. Nor the majority of the rest of the population of Asgard, for that matter.

“So what is it? Is it like showing off your biceps is fine but flashing your ankles is a definite no-no?”

No. Definitely not. 

“Yes,” Loki lies.

Tony’s next prayer comes unbidden: _Some God of Mischief you are. Was kind of hoping you’d be more fun than that._

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m gonna get in. Fully. Ankles and all. Try not to faint like a Victorian gentleman if you catch a glimpse.”

Loki turns around and there’s a splash as Stark slips into the water.

“It’s fine,” Tony calls. “You can turn back around now.”

Loki does and Stark is sat submerged, the water up to his torso.

“See?” Tony says. “All safe.”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you gonna stand there waiting the entire time?” He sinks further into the water, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. “Because I’m telling you, this is _heavenly_.”

_Don’t let me down._

For someone looking so restful, Tony’s thoughts are precisely the opposite.

_… Not that this is just a great ogling opportunity or anything. I’m just curious what you look like with your hair down – non-figuratively, that is._

_Yup._ _That’s all._

Before Loki can begin to fully process the prayer, another one arrives: _Important question: do you get hair frizz? Because I have to know._

A return to normalcy. It must just come with a sinking feeling because it’s no longer quite so entertaining.

The water is very inviting. Loki can feel the gentle warmth of it from here, and his skin and hair is in need of a good clean. He is, however, somewhat unused to there being witnesses. 

A compromise then: he can wash his underclothes at the same time if he wears them. He’ll have to go without them afterwards until they find somewhere they can start a fire, but at least both he and his underclothes can become clean in the meantime.

Stark isn’t even watching and yet Loki can feel his eyes on him. He keeps having to look over to check as he removes his outer layers and Tony is still there, eyes closed in bliss as he relaxes.

When Loki steps into the spring, that changes.

Tony opens his eyes, takes one look at him, and starts barking with laughter.

_You look like Sweeney Todd on a day trip to the beach. Which isn’t a look anyone should be able to make look as good as you do, but still. You are–_

Loki scowls. “What?”

_Is this another one of your powers? Being able to pull off looks that should objectively be terrible on anyone? Seriously – how are you making_ that _a look?_

“You are unintentionally hilarious,” Tony answers. “It’s just–” He starts spluttering with laughter again, cutting himself off. “When I compared you to a Victorian gentleman, I wasn’t expecting it to turn out you actually wear a Victorian swimsuit under your armour. Do you wear that thing all the time? I mean, Jesus, it even comes all the way down your arms and legs.”

Loki sits, folding his arms over his legs. “I don’t comment on the ridiculousness of _your_ underclothes.”

“My underclothes? What underclothes? Oh. Right. You mean my boxer-briefs.” 

“Is that what you call them? They barely cover more than scarves do.”

Tony shrugs. “They cover the essential parts.”

* * *

Sometime during the night, Tony’s head has pillowed itself against Loki’s arm. Loki remains still, unwilling to move. He can remain here, can’t he? What’s the harm in staying like this? This will be the closest he’ll get to something like this anyway, he might as well take what little scraps he can get.

His arm is warm where Tony’s head is laid. He can feel the rise and fall of Tony’s breathing, the phantom breaths of air that leave his nose on each exhale.

“Third question,” Tony announces.

Loki startles, jolting upright, panic flooding his system. “I–” Loki breaks off to regain his breath. “I wasn’t aware you were awake. You… startled me.”

“I have that effect on a lot of people.”

In the darkness, Loki imagines Tony is winking.

Loki draws a slow deliberate breath. “I suppose that now that I have been so rudely awoken, I might as well hear your question.”

_Is that what you call sleep? I couldn’t even hear you breathing. And I know you definitely sleep, I’ve heard your sleepy not-snores_.

“Thanos is after the Infinity Stones. Unsurprisingly, I’m not down to let that happen. Which means I need a plan of action. So what’s the best feasible plan to stop Thanos?”

Loki mulls the question over, staring up at the tent ceiling. “The more Infinity Stones Thanos gains, the more powerful he becomes. Therefore it stands to reason that the best strategic course of action would be to locate the Stones yourself before he can get to them first.”

“Fight fire with fire.”

“Precisely. But don’t forget that he will be drawn to the Stones eventually. He has… initiates. He does not work alone. Anyone wishing to slay Thanos will need to be able to wield the Infinity Stones and use them against him.” His eyes slide to where Tony lies. “I suppose your next question will be how to locate the remaining Infinity Stones.”

“The Mind Stone and the Space Stone are easy. They came from the Sceptre and the Tesseract, right?”

“Correct. But you will need more than two of them.”

“More than two. How about three? Don’t class this as one of my questions.”

“Three?”

“The Reality Stone. I… might have an idea where it is.”

Another one of the Infinity Stones within the Nine Realms. Thanos must be more urgently drawn towards coming here than Loki previously thought.

“How did you find out?” Loki asks.

“I had an, uh, interesting visit to Asgard.”

“Jane,” Loki realises with a shock. “ _That’s_ why Odin didn’t permit her to leave, _that’s_ why you said she had something inside of her.”

“Well, the Dark Elves were also a problem.”

“The _Dark Elves?”_ This conversation was turning into one surprise after another. “Their species is supposed to be extinct.”

“Nope, they just got good at hiding. That was the whole reason behind your hometown being attacked. I wasn’t gonna tell you, given your whole history with magic glowing things, but I’m, uh, out of my depth here. Sure, I could just attempt to take the Stones and give them to people who’d use them all responsibly and boringly, but the issue here is that apparently the Gems don’t take too well to humans. Which is bad news for anyone who doesn’t want Thanos to come knocking. It means we’ve got to outsource.”

“By which you mean gain fighters who are able to wield the Stones.”

“We’ve already got Vision. So that only leaves two to recruit. Thor’s got to be strong enough to wield a Stone and he’s already a trusted member of the team, so he’s a good candidate for either the Space or the Reality Stone.”

One candidate left. Loki opens his mouth, about to speak.

No.

No one in their right mind would allow it. 

And besides, he isn’t even certain if he would allow himself to anyway.

* * *

The sky is dark enough that even long before night begins to fall, the aurora is visible in the sky, violet and turquoise dancing streams of light. Beneath it, there are signs of some kind of settlement, large structures of ice ahead and paths wide enough for the large wolves Jotuns have a fondness for. There’s no other option but to walk through the settlement; the area is surrounded by deep crevasses and the only way to cross the gap between this side and the next is via a bridge. 

“Time for magic dress-up?” Tony asks. 

Loki’s mouth is set in a hard line. “So it would seem.”

Only as they approach the settlement do they realise it’s a town. The population is too high for it to just be a primitive village, and there are permanent buildings carved into the rock and ice. There are Jotuns everywhere; Jotuns selling clothing and meat at market stalls, Jotuns quietly spinning ice into elaborate delicate ornaments, Jotuns tending to animals. But despite the number of Frost Giants, the town square is quiet. The Jotuns were never known for festivities or for their friendliness, but here, walking as one of them, it’s closer to a peaceful sort of quiet than a hostile one.

There are steps that lead underground, though to what end and how far down they go, Loki doesn’t know. Stark, naturally, can’t resist making another one of his observations, this time speculating about something he dubs as ‘Jack Frost’s subway’.

On the opposite side of the town square, they reach what looks like a forest, only instead of the trees being made out of wood, they are made out of ice. There are hundreds and hundreds of them, all as intricately sculpted and textured as a real tree, but with extra lines engraved into the bark that are unique to each one. The sculptures reflect the purples and blues of the aurora in a way that gives the ice the illusion of being some kind of crystal, something that has the look of being thousands and thousands of years old, something formed naturally and without intervention. Except that they can’t be. Something – or, rather, some _one_ – must have created them, but there is nothing to indicate for what purpose.

The path they take weaves through the forest of sculptures, winding steeper and steeper until they reach the foot of the bridge.

The bridge is a precarious thing, made entirely of rope and wooden planks to stand on. When the winds pick up it sways the whole structure, and even when the bridge is stationary, there are still ominous-sounding creaks.

The full view of the crevasse is directly beneath them. Except that, Loki realises, it was never just a crevasse, was it? It is a huge unnatural chasm, so deep it’s impossible to see the bottom of. The sides of it are jagged, as if a monster of the same size as an entire realm swung a pickaxe straight into the heart of Jotunheim, and there are lines that stretch out from the centre of the impact, spreading like cracks in glass through the ice.

“What the hell happened?” Tony asks. “Meteor strike? Some freak earthquake?”

Not a meteor strike. Not an earthquake.

Dread pools into Loki’s stomach, burning as it does.

This was no natural disaster.

“It wasn’t an earthquake,” Loki manages to say.

“You sure about that?”

“Very.”

Tony gives the bridge a shake, as if testing its stability before he begins to walk across it.

Loki can’t stop staring into the pit beneath them.

His doing. This was all his doing, he’d gone and pointed the Bifrost right at Jotunheim and here are the results of it. He shouldn’t be so surprised that it was real, that what he did actually had an impact on something.

There were Jotuns here. The bridge is new; there must have been Jotuns living on the other side of the land too. Some of them must have perished when he’d…

The trees. They can’t have just been purely for decoration, the Jotuns had never bothered with such frivolities.

Grave markers.

Hundreds of them. Thousands of them?

His mouth tastes of bile.

Dwelling on it will change nothing. He needs to get to Frigga. Getting to Frigga will make everything alright, will make everything worth it. He can finally see her and touch her – her physical form this time, not just the illusion of it – and he can tell her…

He isn’t sure what he can tell her. Not this. Not that her youngest son is responsible for _this_.

Maybe she already knows.

“Hey!” Tony shouts from the middle of the bridge. It rocks as he turns around. “You coming or what?”

Loki places a foot on the first plank. It holds. The planks continue to hold as he makes his way further, avoiding looking at the black void beneath him. The winds pick up, so much so that the bridge sways enough to make him wonder whether it would be worth turning back, only it is as much distance to the other side as it is to back where he started.

He walks faster. One of the panels underneath his feet splinters as he steps onto it, but it doesn’t give way. His fingers cling to the rope at either side of him.

There is a loud resounding crack.

Loki freezes, hands tightening around the rope, expecting to have to hang on or be swallowed by the pit. 

Nothing happens. The planks beneath his feet remain intact and the bridge does not drop.

“Great,” Loki hears Tony mutter. He’d fallen through one of the panels; the plank is still falling beneath them, yet to make a sound as it hits the bottom. The position has left Stark suspended mid-way through the bridge, having to hold on to avoid falling. He tries to pull himself up. Fails. Then tries again only to achieve the same results. Tony raises his voice to direct instructions: “Don’t move. I don’t want the bridge wobbling. More than it is already, that is. I’m just gonna turn the suit back on, give myself an extra boost. Because apparently I can’t even do a pull-up now. How embarrassing is that? I blame the cold.”

“I would argue that being more concerned about the possibility of not being able to pull yourself up over the possibility of falling to your death is more embarrassing.” Loki watches as Tony presses something and the whir of his boots starts up before adding, “Though perhaps ‘embarrassing’ isn’t quite the term I was searching for. Questionable priorities? Impressively irrational? More preposterous than your usual?”

The sound of Tony’s boots gets weaker. Before his heels have erupted with flame, they are spluttering with nothing but air.

“Shit.” The light present at the centre of his armour fades until there is no light at all. “You really picked the right moment, didn’t you?” There’s a pause in which Tony presumably registers the situation he is in, how even his suit of armour can’t save him. “Fuck.”

Loki stops himself from moving forward, recalling Tony’s warning about not moving the bridge. “Anthony? Do you want me to–”

“I don’t know,” he says, the words flying out with rapid speed. “I don’t know.”

“Would you like me to come closer?”

“Want to finish the job? Kill me off if the bridge doesn’t get there first?”

Loki lets out a sigh. “Are you going to let _that_ get in the way of–”

“By ‘that’, do you mean that time you actually tried to kill me?”

“I don’t recall ever making a serious attempt on your life.”

“You threw me out of a window. Just in case you forgot.”

“It was a half-hearted attempt upon your life at best.” Loki begins to move. “I’m going to make my way closer.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “Just don’t rock the boat. And I vote that you don’t try to kill me this time.” He squints out of one eye to watch him. “Half-heartedly or otherwise.”

_Don’t let me die,_ Tony’s thoughts plead. _You can’t let me die falling off a bridge in the middle of an alien planet._

Loki treads with more care than he did during the entirety of his venture across the bridge.

_You can’t let me die here. How is it that it turns out Mom’s life rests entirely in your hands?_

Loki’s foot almost slips. 

Anthony’s _mother?_

Of course. He should have seen this earlier.

What else could have incentivised Tony to risk making an enemy out of Asgard? What else could he have seen as a worthy reason to free him from his cell? How else was it that he recognised the most effective method of gaining his cooperation would be because of Frigga? What else could the extra favour Tony mentioned in their terms relate to but saving his mother?

Dead mothers, it seems, is something else they have in common.

Loki is closer now, almost within reaching distance.

The wild franticness in Tony’s eyes as he struggles to keep hold takes on a new meaning: not just the fear of falling, but the fear of all this being for nothing, that his mother will remain lost to him.

“That’s not going to happen,” Loki says. To his surprise, he realises it’s a vow. 

When he grabs Tony by the arms and hauls him to his feet, Tony staggers slightly into him. 

“Is it me,” Tony says between panting breaths, “or are you giving mixed signals here?”

Loki frowns. Then he recalls Tony’s previous words: _I vote you don’t try to kill me this time_.

“A word of advice, Tony.” When his name leaves his lips, Tony looks up at him in astonishment, eyes still wide. “Try to avoid falling into dark places. Sometimes surviving the landing can be worse than the fall.”

Tony gives him a look then, unsettlingly shrewd. “... Thanks.”

* * *

The fourth question comes in the middle of the night. 

Tony’s head has somehow manoeuvred itself so it is pillowed on his chest; Loki can feel the rumble of his voice and each movement of his jaw every time he talks. “I need to know more about how all this underworld stuff works.”

Loki would’ve thought Tony would have moved the instant he realised what he was using as a place to rest his head, that it would only be something he’d do against his will in his sleep, but here he remains. 

Loki’s mouth is very dry. Both answering and not answering feels like it could unbalance… whatever this is. He doesn’t know what to name it.

“Everything?” Loki asks.

Tony gives a little nod. “Everything.”

“When a person dies, what can happen to their soul… varies. Even according to our own Asgardian understanding of what happens after death. It is said that the soul is composed out of four parts. Hamr – what a person looks like; Hugr – the personality; Fylgja – a totem or familiar; and Hamingja – a person’s inherent luck. Each element of a soul may or may not travel to the same place after a person dies.”

“Ghost phoenix.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining the personality part of my soul venturing off into the sunset while leaving behind a ghost phoenix to annoy the shit out of Stark Industry vultures.”

Loki regards him for a moment. “You believe your Fylgja would be a phoenix?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve gone on record saying no one has ever embodied the phoenix as much as me. No, scratch that. Technically I said I wasn’t saying that. But let’s be honest, the implication was pretty blatant.”

“I see you were being as modest as ever.”

“What about you then?” Tony asks. “What’s your animal? A wolf?”

“Perhaps.”

“A lone wolf kind of suits you. But nah, I’m not buying it. Not completely.”

Loki looks at him sharply. “Oh?”

“You’re a raven.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“Why should you be? Ravens are smart as hell, look good in black, and love causing mischief. Oh, and they’ll happily take a shit on whatever they see fit.”

Loki opens his mouth but Tony gets there before he does. “And no,” Tony says, “before you object and tell me all about your carefully selected poop burial holes, I don’t mean literally.”

“I believe we were discussing the afterlife.”

“Oh. Right. I’m not sure how we got from there to tidy poops but here we are.”

“As I was saying,” Loki continues pointedly, though the effect is slightly ruined by his mouth twitching, “there are a number of places a soul or parts of a soul can go when a person dies. Some of the less common places include the Burial Mound – where the body of the person resides, and the Realm of Rán – an underwater hall for those who have drowned or who have been ungraciously dragged down by a sea spirit, depending on the stories.”

“Haunted graves and an octopus’s garden. Got it.”

“For those who die in battle, half of them will reside in Frigga’s halls and fields of Fólkvangr. The other half are sent to Odin’s halls.”

“Valhalla. Heard of that one.” Underneath his breath, Tony half-whispers, half-sings, “ _Valhalla, I am coming_.”

Loki frowns. “I wasn’t aware that Midgard had battle songs.”

Tony sits up straight, leaving a cold spot in his absence. “Trust me, we’ve got battle songs. So so many battle songs. You’ve just gotta know where to look. If I wasn’t out of power I’d get Jarvis to educate you because you’re missing out, buddy.” _Could get super old-school and make you a mixtape: ‘Tony’s Playlist For When Loki Feels Like Levelling Cities’. It’ll either force you to let off steam or get you super hyped to blow more things up. Fifty-fifty coin toss._ “And how literal do battles have to be? Could someone have something like, I don’t know, a battle with cancer and that could get them into Valhalla?”

“It is... unclear. Odin is the one who chooses who to send to Valhalla, and Frigga is – was – the one who chose which warriors to send to the fields of Fólkvangr. And with Odin’s choice, it is also unclear whether he chooses those who have died in battle because he is recruiting, or whether it’s because he believes Valhalla to be a worthy recompense.”

“Wait.” Tony cranes his head to look up towards him. “The big Santa of the universe is recruiting?”

“Oh yes. For Ragnarök. The end of the cycle. The Einherjar – the fighters who reside in Valhalla, that is – are prophesied to come forth to fight.” There were prophecies too, Loki knows. Whispers of him at the prow of a ship of the dead.

“Guess it stands to reason Odin only wants the fighters then.”

“Be that as it may, there is still one last place where the dead dwell: Hel.”

Tony goes very still. 

“Hel is not like how its namesake is described in your Christian mythos,” Loki explains. “Hel is merely a place where the dead walk.” But Tony has yet to look reassured so Loki elaborates, “There are no large firey pits, no demons, no torture. The dead can eat and drink as they please. It is much like life, in that sense. Your mother will be fine.”

Tony draws back “I didn’t– I didn’t tell you _anything_ about my mom.”

Oh.

Loki realises his mistake the moment the words leave Tony’s mouth. 

Tony rounds on him. “How did you–”

“Your mother died in a vehicle accident, did she not?” There is something tugging at his brain, a vague memory of one of the SHIELD agents that was underneath the Sceptre’s spell who knew some secret about Tony’s parents, though the specifics have since become muddied with the aftermath of the Mind Stone. 

“Right.” Tony looks away and fidgets. “Boy, you really did your research, didn’t you?”

“It’s generally considered useful to know as much as possible about enemies you are facing.”

_You know I know all about that._

Loki can hear the suspicion in Tony’s thoughts, the underlying niggles of doubt that there is something more to this. “A few days ago, you almost mentioned saving ‘our mothers’ rather than just mine. It did give away some of your intentions a little.”

_And you didn’t bring it up until now? I can’t tell whether you were just being polite or were saving it until the worst possible moment_.

“Huh,” Tony says.

“As much as I struggle to believe I have to say this, can you lie back down now?”

Hesitantly, Tony returns underneath the blanket. He doesn’t lie as close as he did before, but he’s still close enough that Loki can just about feel the light pressure against his side. The effect is oddly disappointing.

Loki shouldn’t be looking. Instinct tells him that he shouldn’t get too used to seeing the sight of Tony like this, so close in proximity. This is temporary. Once they return from Helheim, this will never repeat itself. Once Tony manages to deduce that Loki can hear his thoughts, this will certainly never happen again.

Inexplicably, that makes Loki want to tear his gaze away even less.

And so, for what could be the last night, he gives in and doesn’t look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, I very recently realised I missed the opportunity to call this fic 'Highway to Hel' or something similar instead of ‘Helvegr”, but the second to last chapter feels like a _little_ too late to change it. Oh well, on with the show.
> 
> Edit: nevermind, I changed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [SuccubusKayko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko) for beta reading this for me!
> 
> Please consider commenting if you've enjoyed reading this and my tumblr is [here](https://the-ice-sculpture.tumblr.com/) if anyone’s interested in a mostly Loki-related blog.


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